You hit me in the chest, pounding
with the fury of a falling tree trunk, I know this forest floor all to well
reducing me to a series of empty sentences
words that hardly mean anything to you
much less me, I think we haphazardly turned our bodies
into commodities of a sweaty back porch
that only knows how to blow smoke into our lungs
I hardly have the oxygen to fold my limbs over
but loss always made us unstoppable forces of wildflowers and rain
gentle, pounding
break through top soil of my sentience
crawling as we may
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