poem: the downsides of unrequited

i try to read but stare out the window.

everything is raw and warm: the sky

is touching lips

with the snow.

i try to read; i ignore the wet


spinning between my legs,

i shift in the chair and wait for the boy


i do not think about thick, ripe peaches falling

into open hands,

virgins getting fucked,

their teeth catching on the plum skins,

the juice like

blood on their snow-white hands.

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