The Landing

Right way, not about you
and me. Not about to forget
your rough grip, your vice-filled

eyes. Try forgetting the hues,
it’s like trying to forget the bricked
up window of your heart–

too tragic to ignore, the obvious
outline, pale patching around
core. The lion phase of me

wants to carry you to a fireside
den, but the snake cycle is in full
spin: venom-heavy moon,

or the dark side, without hands,
just the assumption the black
waves and black sky part somewhere…

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