Derelict or tired or sick, wine and whiskey
subsidiaries to our own off balance blood and tissue.
Our hearts keep us swaddled in the most foul of delusions.
We almost forget we are blessed when our hands touch,
that we are too full of grace in an empty bedroom
to not burn the banana bread.
Together too full of light to let the
malevolence creep past our bitter bones,
to twine itself with permanence around our white matter.
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