This Is Forgetting

 
We couldn’t do it otherwise. Silent through doors, in chairs, legs of and cushions. Press the meat to dried lips, red on red, and wrinkled love. Frozen knots of light flicker through plastic. And once we walked in green and fallen brush and spring. We lurk and trample. Leave scars. Creep slowly across the wall. Imagine we know something of peace.
 

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