soon, you’ll have to go

you leave me exhausted,
and my eyes should’ve closed
but I run to both ends,
living room begs for Clorox.

dipping fingers in a ripped bag,
thinking up lies when
asked how much I make,
and all I’ve made is chalky regret.

pace and trip over the past,
face in line with dim stoplights
and lips short like mumbling,
mosquitoes ridiculing every crease.

I see you three days out,
the week’s hefty wavelength
throws its hunger on still shale,
footprints solemn like young moons.

pat these cheekbones pink,
grapefruit skin clings to meat
so raw and pretty when prosthetic,
though sinewy as your goodbye.

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