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staccato

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there was this night
last summer
that I had not
mentally
prepared
myself for
as I
was unaware
once I
felt her telltale heart
beating
against my skin
I would be
unable to
discern all
of anything
from her whole
and absolute
everything
hair /
from butterscotch
skin /
from cinnamon
and perhaps
this might have been
more fitting
were she not
tulle and leather
juxtaposed
not tattoos
i told you so’s
if she were
as sweet
as her
bubblegum
saccharine lips
suggested
not mouth
breathe air
congested
into my lungs -
and I should
learn
to think
without
my tongue
forget a taste
that’s been undone
and I should
learn
to think
again

god knows I should give you up

but where
would I
begin




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