the irish village

i did not know

that your son licked me well enough for me to scourge this good when i fact

the purple roses that i dreamed about last night

meant that his death is on the way. 

give me your pints, your strut and your skirt

i need to make sure that its sweet retrieving effect can make me rekindle our past

that led me to your son.

away from the bottle that made me fat with anger for ten long months.


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