Yes, I suppose it is possible
to grow tired of stepping on
flower petals buried under dirt
roads. And knowing exactly how
melted skin sticks to metal doors.
...but wasn't it you? Digressing
like an afternoon. Barking bite
sized bullets like bees. Pollinating
hillsides of the Hindu Kush. With
blood, sweet like honey. Dripping
bits of life. Staining the tops of
your boots.
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