On a string,
the very string, which us together bound
holds me now
irritating flesh;
my feet up off the ground.
this is the catch: that love is a rope
and away from hands
it moves up the metaphysical
up to the throat; ..
no one now
wants to be up on a string..
so once this rash wears
I’ll forget what it was.. it
was.. was… godwhatwasthatthing…
nathanael.ink 
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