line

A little turn
walk in straight lines

lines don’t exist

my line forms at your behind
and I scratch my feet
against the rocks
following you

this path is overgrown

once
sharp and beautiful,
gravel now acts its age
and is soiled and weary
it lets the grass and thistles
through

your boots crush the weaker things

a little more
walk in slight curves

lines are impossible

my hand on your back.
you are more
the decision made

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