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Dear Smooth Cigarette;

Killer, why don't you ever take the trash out on time? This is as white as several diseases in one.

Dear Renee's Orange Glass Roses;

I wouldn't think fingerprints to spread you open like that! Are you a boat to sunset pupils as slow heartbeats regurgitudinal blessings of where fingers hurt pursed in you? Where one could tunnel down to pollen docks, there's smoothed afraidness in dropping you, afearedness of how fragile, and Bam! you putty unlikely. I strip you across my palm to weight sinking fins of delicious separation. The color is always warm warm called her sibyl by the noxious tardying. I could snap and you would cut me to blunders.



two poems

lewis lacook