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At the wake of I love you


by Mark Fewtrell



At the wake of I love you.

 

We were warm and not fizzy; it was the graveyard of “the comment.” A wake was being held for I love you. A good fellow yes? No on advice a laugh your face will regret a taunt to slap you from the tit.  We were nothing and it amounted to a lot. “Love kills love hates love lifts you up” and takes you from the earth a swoon you are and earth you will become again, clichés struggled in the mud, new skin they said new skin an imago still born in the snuggle with itself  a sleeping bag that couldn't dream to wake. Though well read the reading does not move them on the waves jar but the sailor's song does not carry on the air it tattles only at this spot, the sheep dog will not go home, it will sleep upon the lie lick I love you like a bone gone bogus and again a feather taking flight falls the wind picks it up as a child's kite. Again it falls. I love you, a wake. I was happy at its death. The wind has loosed a door it will not fly. The lock has unhinged. Comment be gone by day by night. I love you takes woe from your sight she says a wake it will not have for love it did not, only words you said a comment for the kids. A fiction like notion. On one wing a butterfly mutters and falls to earth like buttered bread. Too much lived the comments say so. The life I gave I will now take not give it back in the wake. I love you you're mine, to do with as I will take back the swallow that you ate my giving in the mist was yours I want it back from your shallow face. The car crash at the bottom of the wall, twisted metal of such wordsWe bury only the shells of beds those who lay and lie, I love you there I go again take me to the wake awaken me in pain sad laughs who walk away anger on the wind though you might sell a night time to the dawn boots will draw you in and comment only masturbate you memory. You licked you lapped my words you took a fill the wake only tells that I love you is not a song but at the wake of words I love you turns on the tears of hangings, cars unbalanced on the tops of hills, children thrown from balconies. I love you. So when I love you died we laughed enough that sin raised an eyebrow and slid between the thighs of some other phrase.

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