day is four walls that are less mine
he says believe they are
together we must own the day then
sitting in like fashion of the bored cat
windows that are too tall too reach to sky
and I’m a drop of his water
and piss after fucking
the bowl from which we drank
sleep most of my own dusk eye
drawing your animal fruit cut outs
and circling you in the licorice aura vine
of this black tongue wanderer
tomorrow at gain noon
we’ll be swimming this building’s stale air
our breath warming
the corner ceiling’s cob
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