Excuse Me My Trespasses

Pexels/Creative Commons

Jimsoned, my words are; clovered, clustered. Excuse my hair, my platform eyes. I’m crowded by theorems and connected investigations; they clutter the chairs, they jimmy all the locks. They return my kisses with such sobriety that blue and slow are crowns, synonyms. I might have waited elsewhere. But looking is its own gym, its
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