i don't find you out of breath
your heart might be really tired
as if it feeds on water,
loneliness and drenched fleas
i don't find it surprising
as i haven't remember you live
never been excited for a day
how much more if i'll see you out there
on a summer night
out of town
stepping on the beat of the sand
leaping on bonfires
made of driftwoods and dried kelps
green bluish flames
marked on your skin.
looking at you right now:
soaked,
frigid,
pickled
in a forgotten tub
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