‘Withheld’

Don’t, don’t fight with me.
I may breathe heavy words like gunshots
but they burn with a please,
“please let me be.”

And there’s no other word for it
but cynicism, let me wrap tape
around the end, lest they fray,
bear the brunt of my wit.

It’s later than I meant it to get.
But i’m drowning in the need
to swim, full body immersed,
without getting wet.

Darling, I can see you in my mourning
crusty bread and low fat dread,
spread thick. These days I can’t
see through the worry, to the warning.

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