It's Happening to Us All
More by Goldenrose
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into mud
When you bite your jacket,
you taste the salt that has soaked in,
all the times you have worn it.
But there is no detaching-
you have sunken your teeth into a moment.
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One Seven
One
the list, the ambitions typed into neatly folded laundry and messy buns.
Seven
a.m. the time the covers mute the morning-nothing is concrete.
One
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