哭逡 = T^-1

f off

us skirting around it is inversely proportional to that of my
skirt-wearing, and congruent with your
hatred of blue shirts and shits and ships and she’s

only appropriate on maps of

A*ccolade. musical accomplishment equates to
intellect and calculated decisions.
manifest 
literary comparison
in bared teeth, your smile bare as a reminder that
not all lines of best fit are linear.

sometimes we leave the skirts aside, step into stilts. here. she
is measured with your scales and against my palms. the increments
you refer to diffract wider every day,
our plates are emptied in hourlong intervals,
fringes extend their stay –
allegorical Sunday Night Dishwashing clinks
its Operas into our binary box. 5, 6, 7, 8:

“what’s happening with          ,
this is to be
staying             is enough
do not transgress into                                                                         
i am           , yes
know that this is for your s”

yours as if you appreciate the way i dance on stilts
yours as if caution is the only choreography

      if this muteness is inherited
      housewarming should have been.

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