It’s flowering now, bang, boom, lark, trees, swoon. Dive and drop and pop and glitter with the smoke in our bones and the thrill in the weather. Climb the spirit, ignore the deities, meet the grass, tear yourself up, like paper, pass.
Your hands on the wheel, the speedometer blurring, hair on your shoulders, your delicate snoring. You can tie me up, I beg you to spit my words, just do it now, before we’re crippled and old.
I’ll be waiting on your porch while you warm yourself up, while you finger the fire.
I’ll take it back to the park, to the street, to the front, to the dark, to the wind, to the game, to the sand, to outside of the bar, to wherever you want.

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