I'm Sore - All Poetry

 I'm Sore

Of course, I'm sore

Wipe your wounds

scan your pain, into my body

Maybe you forgot it

but in your spare and cramped

I was never absent

It was impossible for me

To leave you

which was almost impossible beside me



I Hate Everyone, But

I love me

Sundays without children

Some banana leaf midrib

which coils the caterpillars

I love me

Lonely rain and a handful of melted palm sugar

in a hot cup

I love me

Lime which sour and melting on my face

every day.

November, 2020

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