ahwak

I.

I dream of sweet scented roses with petals torn, roots uprooted, and thrown with a spontaneous violent jerk over pure white sheets soon to be covered in dirt, crushed petals, and thorns.
I dream of caresses while I listen to the rushing sounds of scattered snares, toms, and the stacatto trumpets of Miles Davis in blue sunrises and orange suns.
I dream of mushrooms spurting spore absorbed like ashen dust from a cigarette in the dirt! I dream of you dying between the pebbles – screaming through the dirt – scratching away at an invisible casket in complete darkness – then…
a sigh…
a sigh that says
ahwak

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