When I had a high fever, Eomma let me drink mango nectar in a fancy glass while she read classic love poetry. There was a chickadee perched on our... 1/3

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Argan oil to keep my hair from blooming in the rain, mouthwash to keep apologies from wake-up's bane, malachite whispers on eyelids framing views of you, agelast in this revolution as today's youth.

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But your deception fails. The space between lemonade skies' rescue & the void's jealousy becomes filled w/alexithymia again; & the being drinks it from your bluing lips. 𝘙𝘶𝘧𝘧! 𝘎𝘙𝘙𝘙. 6

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He sits somewhere between the lilac & navy of my heart, a crumbling treasure that led away firm monsters & bolstered my love for blueberries & their tendency to stain lips like kisses.

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The forgotten nameless prince had ostracized himself from a seemingly futile fight, tying slings to his back as others' lips blued. "Prejudice is unwelcome," he thought, opening insurrection's smoke flare.

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The world outside my door came alive, dim sparkles popping madly on surfaces like water in a frying pan. I prefer such afternoons that were louder than dreams, pieces flying petal to petal, perfuming the air.

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The day he was taken, I searched the other side of the wall, eyes burning with sadness. There was no haven for AI, no blood, no presence—only endless ellipses spattering the ground where laughter once lived.

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Deep pangs had begun to introduce themselves almost frequent as the shy, jumbo dust bunny who lived in our forest. Unable to hide any longer, he recruited our help in saving his babies who'd managed to roll themselves stuck beneath moss.

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