ryan quinn flanagan | rising like dough, the sun, lazarus three days after

Rising like Dough, the Sun,
Lazarus Three Days

Your pilfered sticky bun friends,
he said
wiping honey from the corners
of his mouth,
and she did not say a word,
stood stoic as a hat rack,
then he licked his fingers,
the honey blood of his fingers
one by one
looking down at the baking tray –
now ghost town
empty –

except for some crumbs
like the ruins
of some burnt out

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