tricks me into its immortality.
Suffered, keys pluck at my nerves
stuffing veins with candy.
I want to climb the light
to where I am.
I want the cushions of the breeze
philandering with shoreline.
Grey swamps eat up
the buttery flowers.
Mail comes in its lily pad of ink
dripping fossilized shadows.
A tower rises from
the refulgent moon.
And we are closed inside
its secret ripples
like two clocks of mice.
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