Beginning to Make Things Happen

This is not a fungus. Once

I planned to live forever,

           eternity ad nauseum,

until baby’s-breath and contraceptive sunrise found me

laughing in the dirt, drifting between

delirium and pink echo, post climax.

Coincidence:

This is what tropism is.

I’m lying in bed considering you.

Yesterday I remembered allergies

and today I drank a whole bottle of gin

while tangerine juice dripped

down your chin and into last year.

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