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Ceilings

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Morning rituals consisted of
Kissing the sun with our June
Stained mouths and planting
Fires in wheat field hearts,

Now we are running out of time
And I can feel everything — you
Tell me how you can still taste
Fireworks on your lips.

The ocean preferred us, we were
Wedded to songs of sea salt with
Beryl wine in our sand dollar eyes,

Now we fall in love with chemicals:
You tell me how the sunset used
To seep through the ivory slats of
Our rib cages like moth wings and
We are full of laughter emptiness.

The ceiling is our sky,

We were young, we were young.



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