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Is there nothing as Sublime
as the stubble from behind
The marble of this morning?
You turn your head and slightly say
a wit I cannot hear
Over the chorus of your lips, your teeth, your keepsake boyish smile.
I can't breathe in, I'd savor scents that linger on your jaw
I can't exhale, I'd only sigh and give myself away.
Luminous behind a shadow shy, and capillaries flushed,
Twisting your face at accolades into a shrugging hush.
You won't be charmed by spurious looks from these specious eyes,
Which can never match your ragged maps (too erudite to lie).
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(i don't know what comes next here, so i guess this one isn't done yet)
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