Friendly Fire


I’ve given this poem a secret breath

between and behind the lines of enemies

Crisp and autumn

Crass and autonomous

There was hunger in our very lungs


Slithering into aching akimbo arms

we swallowed each other whole, like eggs


Easter has never been a good month for us


Eternity dripped into misplaced scars

Your teeth are still there, lodged

beside the finest set of flannel lies

A case of mistaken fidelity


I’ve always wondered who the hell you were


Bustling memories, bigger than a bread box

Scores of questions bare once shrouded fangs


Betrayal is a language of love

spoken by dragons and hares alike

Mishaps with limbs

Misshapen, but limber

Our pulmonary poetry fails to protect


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