I’de show you all the lines in my hands
maps for all the mornings I made you breakfast
a crease for every time I chased after a muse
that only exists in sleepy eyes
and sunny windows
Parallel rays, almost spider webs
illuminate the empty space that resound-
bellowing, between soft skin and crusty eyes
I think we only exist in a bedsheet kingdom
as long as we don't turn our heads outward
I'll continue to wrap my disfigurements
in wooly pillowcase bandages
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