Poetry · Writing

Canal of Fucking Love

Hoth

it’s to hott to blow over-

I can’t just

let it go.

can’t ask me to let myself go

or

to love.

I-

I find the canel of fucking love

to be treacherous, like Hoth,

icey hot.

A golden oar

the price was steep

and I’ll be in debt forever

but I’m paddling.

This is the river

and I’m paddling.

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