Passing sadness
drenches like a sudden
narcissistic summer –
languorously hot –
defeating time –
repeating I’m
a nonsense rhyme –
a silly thick
molasses poignancy
with fuck-all left to do:
arguably thus
to misconstrue
whatever’s holding me,
ostensibly to reassure:
even if it’s luckless you.
Pleasurable, though –
this schadenfreude taste:
this dense consistency –
to think it might just be
the most persuasive
flavor I have had
or could be having
of eternity.
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