In us, the status
In this, the stasis-
the blithely unblemished birthmarks
that conduct rituals in our blind spots,
that weave their mourning hegemony
(their morning testimony
of our sorcery,
of our dereliction,
of our charming fallacies)
into heraldic necklaces-
each bead sewn onto fledgling, puffy breaths
that coil around our tongues
like lovers we never
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each bead sewn onto fledgling, puffy breaths
that coil around our tongues
like lovers we never intended to bed,
or lies we never intended to birth,
and that similarly leave us
wooed,
subdued,
alive,
asphyxiated...
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