You got the rocks stuck in your skin
where there should have been a shirt sleeve.
The indentation from the sand,
and the heaviness of alcohol.
So, you set all the bottle-traps for poisoned girls
while they lied to their daughters on the phone.
It started at your ankle then,
like the water,
we just drew you.
Your sweet, sweet stomach lied about the heartbeat of your father.
Oh, wash over, my lover boy.
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