i am still not home because

the thirst to forget

to remove

knocked its smut knuckled hand upon the front door of my

mind and

rather than object

pretend no one was home i

let him in.

he steered me clear of Safety and self respect and


we washed up upon the shores of

Soon to be Regretted

our ankles wearing the shackles of discarded six pack

plastic and

rejected cigarette butts.


here we are

sipping foamy head from the lips of a liar

caressing the glassy curves of another one night stand

tossing her back with no intention of respecting her taste

she momentarily removes the pain, this hoppy sister to


and for that we worship her honey angles

her malted tangles.



becomes my answer

i have not yet watched those words

dropping from your perfect lips

but instead turned to crux again;

we sometimes bow

to the silent wails

emanated in the memory bank

between our hips.


Breton Lalama  writes to share the beauty of small moments and encourage others to question, think, and feel. They like hanging with plants and eating tomato sandwiches, and are willing to let the void have a nibble of tomato sandwich, if it desires.

November 1, 2018

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