it feels bitter when it should feel sweet
it feels ragged when it should feel smooth,
it feels deep purple when it should feel pink
these smells should only
bring back memories of stay and release
not damp apartments in cities
where our mothers cried
where we cried ourselves awake
many days tugging your tail too far
off your fruitful grounds
so who was wolf
and who was fox?
now you see me scurry back in who’s little borough
i still think of you.

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