18 December 2024

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it's the moondrunk promises you made at seventeen,
the blood-orange evening glow that stains yr white shirts tan
the chutes and ladders, the panic and wonder
yr head on the lap of a pregnant green field

it's the lips of the girl you met tonight 
the halfhour gaze that tied you together
the cutting of the string with a goodbye kiss
the longing that lingers for something underneath

it's the promise this'll all happen again
the crush you develop on what disenchants you
the funhouse mirrorself you see in yr reflection
he meets your gaze but stares right past you

poem 24.12.15

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