pet will sense the future of our embryos in her navel

She’s a ghost eating bun
 
I’m a dog walking man servant
 
our streets don parallel identities
our paths refuse to waltz
 
I’m a moist bun in her dry mouth
she’s crackling leaves under wet paw
 
dog defecates
oblivious to the longing of our kind
 
I pick her up with oblong obit pages
fold her like leaves of dessert
there’s ink on my fingers
buds in her ears
 
we hear morse codes of crickets together
she knows I’m staring at her dress rehearsal
 
dog turns to pee in the dark
 
hear, motorcycles on distant highway
there, bun wrappers, isolated in bins
 
I come home to the lapping of water bowls
an ozone layer of sadness in my weak eye
 
#dailypoem, #dailywriting, #irvingpaulpereira
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