OK so my last poem was a vacant father much like its subject knew,  or hung.

 

Gardening makes space pretty for the people,

And the earth swallows those,

Last laugh...

 

Thanks.

 

The one about coffee,  this isn't Friends

It's the one about how I wake up and how breathing

 

Is done. Could be done. Couple coffee and lips

And then plagiarise the poem I read before this

Tension.

 

Couplet like Juliet,

Aardvark like hamlet.

 

Hammer the poor bae

To his shit stain and then crisscross

 

Hamlets and mountains, fjord

And flume.

 

Countdown the hours

To when the poem was Ruin.

 

.Afterall, a fairytale is something pretty

And her bruises leap at you

 

From the poison on the nightstand

Or bullets from a teaspoon.

 

I can't shake the salt enough

There isn't any left in the ocean

 

But my arms are

So strong

 

And you, my love,

Could crush nails between thighs

 

Mooning the blood

Or sucking it from cups