8/17/2019 apricots.docx

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She sings

And there are purple marks blossoming on my wrists

 The song tastes of apricots

I swallow down the fear. The fear The fear

 The fear that one day

 The coee pot will not be hot and full when I wake up

Or that the bed will be cold and desolate

And the pillow creases on my face won’t be traced with ngertips

And laughed at

er breath smells like apricots

She sings

I close my eyes

 The apartment smells like coee

She is singing

It’s august