Dedicated to the men with little boys in their hearts that made fools of them.
you never communicated
write “I’m Sorry”
across my clit
Bury me alive in the sand,
I’ll build a castle there when I’m dead.
You fuck her like your life source
is running on low
and leave her like you have somewhere to be.
You hold her like you want
to love her but
there’s another lover you need to see.
I tasted myself
on your mouth.
It was the first
time I knew
warmth was a
Free falling from formality
Here’s how he handled his hypocrisy
Beheading blackouts with brazen bravo
Testing trust with taciturn tendencies
Labyrinthine and lethargic logic
Whitewashed worries of wanton wars
Purchasing polluted policies of panacea
Equivocal empathy an emollient of the eagerness
Between the baleful borrowing of bedded bad’s
Grasping, gasping, graphic
Aubades are an apostate anthem
My morning mouth messier than magnanimous
Salient and sardonic speech silenced by stalwart scars
Written by Forest Greenwell