Weth (and the things that need to end.)

It was by light he slept,
Curved to the point of bend and
Threatening to break all straights apart.
As from one line that we shared –
Old words we preferred to bring forward
Renamed, removed of their weight, of our shame –
Any breath could become from our labour, libate.
Intending to bear or bring fruit to the room,
Roots to our feet – excuse to our conscience.
It was by light I saw him sleep,
Six now morning and stain-deep in sheets of
Loss and comfort. Ever warm in every other
Whitish corner of my body, still destroyed and still
Recovered to a smallest sense of self, modest not
Withstanding sole to shoulder where we lie.
From dead to alive – abused to experienced –
Upon this light where things must end.

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