A Trip to the Park with Someone Who Wants You Dead

You were dressed in your Sunday best and I
Was wearing my gloves with the hole in the left thumb
And you knew, in your presence, I am always deaf and dumb
To all the signs I miss before a kiss:
The smell of sickness on my skin
and in your mouth was
Something rotten, something dying:
A wild worm in a great green ash.

How remarkably we can suffer
Without ever really trying.

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