my I waiting for
your I
in the place
where you grow me
a forced bulb
blooming
unrepentant
in our warm
empty of a house
caught in lightness
they say
you don’t write
the new
sleep your words
in time’s anachronistic
belly
so what if
my I was backward
once, am
the I me not here now?
you show
me a contemporary
I
show me spit or
casual garbage
I bloom you
in the grown place
now you
then me.
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