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dead lilies

let's lie under my bed and count the rusty springs,
painting sky pinholes with intertwining breath.
with thumb tacks, old books,
toys digging into our spines, let's
speak of this world and the three beyond,
four inside and two beside.
i want to coat the inside of your lungs
with my pretty words and ideas
of chrome toasters, dead lilies.
in the space between sleep and life,
talk of green socks and tired eyes
and the woman who said hello yesterday at the bus stop even though i obviously
did not want to be said hello to.



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