poems      
  no. 1      
         
         
  meshugga-sugared
twice-spiced
hot, spiraling darts like stars
feeding on dark skies.
unexpected collisions
looning and spooning
not suicidal or bridal.
empty vessel to filled up cup,
pleasantly weighted in the waves
with your crumbly, moist nutcake love
   
     
         
         
     

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