16:39 02 18 (17)

so is this stab sounds, little prickle of a splinter
with sandpaper tongues,
acid fingers
when you didn’t have to
so when im on the train up to the north and count tree trunks it trickles
and think about lovers that aren’t us but
my lover now and his former like
who the fuck wrote this
separate road trips and
fell in love with a hand brake inbetween but disengaged
and opposite,
so when im on the train down to the south and count tree trunks it trickles
set up camp with other people with driver’s licenses and
equally four month expiry
little bit column a, bit of column b
and let it rush with no build up
mothers that like the other more
still warm colours from country souls so we’re mirror image
a command r for me and f4 for yours,


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