Ninety-Seven: Chuck

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
It would be such a short fucking list seeing
as I hate all the bruises you left along the way.

I hate your cockroach creeping into my dreams.
I hate the way your dirty fingers, intent on being
in every pie, curl round every letter in my name.

I hate  the way your words rot, trapped by my lips,
fermenting my smile every single time I feel free
to part my lips for something other than a kiss.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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