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A\N This one deserves its own post. Again, the poem was born from the word, which gives it the title (I didn't quite manage to explain the word in the poem, though).
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<lj-cut>You</lj-cut>
and me,
fricatives die on your tongue,
explode in your throat,
particles of unintended hatred
dissolve in doldrums:
forbearance does not look good on you.
Love
and me.
it's easy, it's obvious, you know it,
yet you still fight me,
with shams and brotherly love, exposed,
"Brother, don't make me do this,"
I whisper, tremulous, weakly; he doesn't listen.
Me
and