You, like little ice picks, haltingly,

Oh my snowy one,

You break into my trajectory

And say, are you reality, or just symphony?

Oh, I don’t know.


Blue brittle vicegrips, brokenly

Chip my teeth away

And break them into potpourri

And the scene goes from alchemy into anarchy

Like anything else.


But your words play on my heart like piano keys

Left in concert halls,

Eternal unremembered melodies

That you play to me, as your legs move in harmony –

Oh, let me go.


And these, needless words made foolhardily

Just for artiface

Conceal the emptiness of memory

Badly made into allegory, or fake history

Oh, it’s enough.


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