chicken a la brown eyes

i am learning that

in order to exist one

must do so in a duality

of opposites. we

must always be both

we are always living

and always dying. i am

just soft skin and bones

like stone; an alcoholic

working in a distillery;

a queer in church in love

with someone who does

not exist

i want you

but i cannot have

you, and i know

we’re both better off

like this:

you running your fingers

through your hair while

i make that chicken that

you love and

when i serve you

you don’t say “thank you,”

you just devour it and i

start to wish there was a way

for me to tell that chicken

how lucky she is

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