The unfurled flag of your thoughts
Wrapped your sardonic wit
Your packs of lies
Should have been copyright, like mother said.
Sorry was foreign.
Hadn’t come yet
In its longboat of needle
To reside in my flesh. Glut red
The tonic smoothed sea
Almost narcotic
I was the Belgium-belle you brought over
Figurine fixated, haunted. Two seas slid backwards.
Rolling hours
In your arms
They were beautifully broken.
The flag was white, empty, unspoken,
Slit.
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