a sunday kind of poem

my favorite picture

it is july 21st 2013 and i want to die with gratitude

My ex-husband is on top of me, I am scooting myself in and out
of him because, I tell him, his penis is inside him as much as my floral
cunt is inside me, I am penetrating as much as he is, I am not telling him
about the failures of my childhood, he is not telling me about how men really
do need tenderness as well, we are not comparing with each other the features
of our molesters, I am not telling him about the man I loved who thinks I am dead
and he is not telling me about the woman he loves who he thinks is dead, and it is exactly
the beginning of time because after all we are both women and men, we are both men and
women, we are not even both people, we seem to engage with the world with our lips whether
we speak or do not speak and as we do this, I am writing this debt with my lips ripped.

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