Two Summers

if I lived again, I would long for two summers,
a meadow of butterflies, and the scent of first love in the air
I would long for birds and trees with the wind stuck in them
like laughter, like a skewer through a dead pig
I would ask for forgiveness
I would know myself

I would eat ripe fruit and I would stain myself
I would drink cool water by a stream
and I would long for two summers

Then I would know happiness
and would be full and sated
like a pig before the slaughter

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