love is a flowing thing
is a changing thing
is a slippery fucker
slipping right through my fingers
like your hair did while we lay together
and i whispered to you
whispers are all i hear now
floating through the air, from my past
making sure i am still enslaved
slave-driven by my un-Buddhist tendencies
i always mourn for things that i drop
shattering on the floor and cutting into my feet
“bare feet aren’t for traveling“ is what you said
but the earth feels good...till you step on a thorn
looking back i see i’ve left bloody footprints on the concrete
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