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coffee and cigarettes

by Brynn Dizack

inside our skins, we are all
white like apples
slowly browning
dig
deep enough and
you can find our small black seeds
dark secrets
laughing
conspiracy
stick
together
stick
together

they form stars inside of us but
unless you cut it open right
you'll miss the miracle

my brain yesterday was
writhing in twisted function
composed of the memories
of her breathing
against my cheek, the
thick taste of cool stone
below my tongue did not permit
canine to rest on incisor without
scrapingcrunch grain between
enamel

i felt suddenly
that we were not close enough
despite our
warm skins touching and
her chest heavy and soft against my side
expanding and
contracting like
children
sucking helium
from balloons

moving under her arm took
more effort than attending
another
funeral

we were
being bombed in our dreams
she breathed in
once, i
turned over
spit out my seeds & while i fell asleep with
my nose behind her ear
[she still smelled like
greek breakfast]
they formed little black stars on my pillow
so there was no need for
incisions.
anymore.

02/17/2003

Posted on 02/18/2003
Copyright © 2022 Brynn Dizack

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Anita Mac on 02/19/03 at 03:34 PM

Nice fruit metaphor... again...

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