If I cut open this skin
saline and whiskey
would spill
from the spread
lips
of the wound
maybe some
earl grey
spoiled
milk
the pulp of my lungs
and I’d be
a mess of words
all consonants
and muddled vowels
all why
and how
come come come
come to bed
and warm my blood
everything is
so
so cold here
of course I’m
fine
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