Wick ghost, most cherished
I sketch pissed emphemera in pencil
Soot tress this spring all the more
For the less of you
When callous
I laugh at your choice
Ignorant of the act, ill observant
Yet you know
I would be harder, demand you grow
Than all the giddy drunks you make
The muse like seasons
Persistent I celebrate you wanting
More in your unkowing
Wish you every blessing.
It is with some hurt, my jet
I laugh at your choice
But I do.
So do you.
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