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the backhand of love
tragicbubble

There was nothing to stop me from disappearing
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into a trail of bread crumbs
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until you flung out a dragnet of knuckle bones.
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A snowflake’s down settled over the bone meadow
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beneath my skin. I was never looked at like I was moon,
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merely tossed over left shoulder
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that lucked into being a star, into dying
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in the backhand wishes.
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Your kisses flipped copper pennies
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against rough baseboard of tongue till I blushed
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an orchid’s frail bruise. But lover, my heart is hard;
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I fear its vessels have toughened into gravel streams,
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and there is no space for you. Stake your claim
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on my freckled landscape and call it discovery,
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call it conquered, fight your way in.
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For you are the first man to leave your footprints behind
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on my bedspread like you really meant to return.
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01/19/07

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