16 October (WIP)

Tonight I left the party early
to home _ read _ write that
poetry.

An ode to the poet punk boys
that I’ve looked _ loved
Their songs.
The ones we aged together
with drugs _ dance _ drink
all swilled together but the
taste most fine, my heart’s divine,
is His mouth my tongue entwined.

To my right I stare
to the poet musician; he
sings. That heartbroken-love
The history of sadness
gravels our voices and
grounds all thought.

Or is it just me _
is it not everyone’s thinking?

Those heartbroke songs
the ones we aged together
behind smoke and wine
all swilled together but
the taste most fine, is my heart’s divine,
is His mouth and my tongue entwined.

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