Bitten Tongue

Wading out again so I better not break her

Nor break the surface of this dream; it

escapes my arms often, through fingers

of raven hair, slick with wet, made to

upset tongues too easily &

phrases writ to absolve us—No—it

matters not—lack of words, my tongue,

of late, feels free to choke me, & I can’t

say another thing about her while eyes wade.

 

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