D Story

Damn it! 

I did it again. 

I forgot to tie dandelions into crowns 

as I sat in the dirt writing the occasional 

death poem.

I forgot to change “dessert” to “desert” 

in the part of the story when he leaves 

the table to message his new darling.

Dusk seems to be the only time I remember 

to turn on a dime, to the beat of my own drummer.

Dawn is when I dread swallowing drugs 

and dancing with cliches. 

One day, I forgot to keep drinking in the deluge 

of your daring words.

Now I won’t dare let them disappear in the desk drawer. 

I need your daunting verse the way a dahlia 

needs blackish purple to be beautiful and dangerous. 

I need your distance the way the darkest night 

demands stars to disappear.

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