F(l)u

Heart-sick,
heaving slick my sleeves
with spit.
My mouth –
the mouth you begged to kiss;
I feed my knuckles in
‘til I get sick.
How to stop the rot
that collapses my chest.
Your mouth –
the mouth I kissed the best.
Heart-sick
and still regretting it;
I feed my knuckles in
’til I get sick.

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