March-April-May Wedding

They fall together,
fail together and
call me and
I whisper what.
Their flesh burns
my flesh when
we come together.
Such togetherness, we
try to fight
try to resist.
The pink flesh
cries down on
my bright red
curly red hair.
It rains today;
spring always comes
with all its
flouncy fleshy flirty
trees; the pain
will often keep
me up. I
digress; I hate.
I don’t. I
do. Will you
marry me, love?
Fuck me sideways.
Line breaks line
breaks line breaks.
What the fuck?
Fuck me. Me.
Fuck me. It
often rains down
with pink petals.
I often get
married in spring.
I often ask
if you ever
loved me really.
Fuck you. No,
really now. Fuck –
fuck fuck fuck (!) –
fuck you, darling.

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