and you draw a heart around her face
zone out on camellia swirling
blonde drool and wrinkled smile
I don’t know shit
but I already knew that I mean
everything that isn’t a cherry
is the wallpaper in a private reverie
sticking to the poems
I make the sounds of caring
nudge and nod my throat to respond
but I’m thinking it’s obvious
how I decorate myself with butterflies
because I love being a butterfly
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