my son, it seems,
begs to differ
with everything I have
been
and everything I have
thought.
Visors misty with our
words,
we sit, smug in the
bloated suits we don,
on opposite sides of
the universe,
prepare to re-plunder
each other
with words and looks
in an out of control
spiral,
two hearts re-create
the bitter belt
we call asteroids.
we call asteroids.
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