Cycle

you close your eyes, you see me
paper bag grin
right cheek: crumbling

I pity you, I love you, I make you toast

drawers of decades
of sawdust, bottle caps, inkless receipts
clatter me

you ask me for the in between

I tell you this: you still ache

to be pressed into a capsule
swallowed with ginger tea

I search through those drawers
find everything but a knife

spread moon colored butter
with my index finger

you will never know
left cheek: waxy

I serve you this lie:
you will end up at this house
full drawers, drawn curtains, nothing like yourself

you serve me this lie:
thank you
I feel better now

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