she spoke of ice-cream;
ice cold handshakes
up the middle of her
wedding dress.
silents drips
of fabric karma
lip gloss lovers promenade.
paper-back sunday
summer nights ,
bedroom whisperer
past
the droop of
shadowed eyes,
and sour lip prints.
come home falcon,
between licorice
i am skilled in
love jawing
and tomato wine.
taste my ever-glow
and flood my sun.
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