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she curses like a sailor and i sink like a stone

i am tired of living like a ship before wreckage:

chaotic and shifting on an uncaring ocean.

i am waiting for her,

for the woman who will hold me down

like an anchor, until i stop

feeling like I am going to pitch and roll off the deck.

till i stop feeling like i am going

to slide out of my own body.

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the women who love us are cold

we know the moon closer than the ocean,

our own mother

who sanctified us and commanded us to land.

we love the moon's alien, lovely face

more than the cold, wine-dark waters

who gave us life,

because they cannot also be convinced not to take it.

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a city the waves forgot to swallow

sitting silent as an abandoned building

like a city that's been ancient since it was built

you're solemn and full of cobwebs.

so i do not touch your hand

 

i wonder how your crumbling fountains

used to giggle joyfully in your cheerful squares.

but now your waters are still,

and your center is empty, so i am afraid of you

and i do not touch your hand.

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women make better lovers than blades

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a revolution

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we invested in imagined futures

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~

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