Carved into hormones — is love our first call?
A fire we follow, no thinking at all.
I thought that I found it, I swear that I did.
But our shared Venus looks like a Shaheed.
She touches my waist as she whispers of guilt,
The kitchen is heavy with smoke that we've built.
The map on the wall burns and breaks. And it seems —
it's cutting off East, ending at Daugavpils.
Her shirt is too short, and it won’t hide my knees.
I freeze at the sight of the smallest of things:
Tangerines, Fridays, the colour of green,
The taste of her mouth and the places we've been.
My voice lives in hers when we echo belief.
Our photo is trembling, unfocused in grief.
I’ve tasted her lips — they were dark beer and heat,
But buried beneath them, I only found guilt.
And I thought, and I thought, now I think and I think —
Will something change if he's suddenly killed?
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