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Slick soap

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Your hands willing fold

flocks of breathe in heaps;

tragic.

The tirade of laughter;

remorse;

broken lines mark time wilted.

I slick clean through like damp soap-

demask the rose that wept

and still fall loose like leaves

from trees that dream of summer.

A single drop from sagging eyes

Pops like batter to a frying pan;

startled.

and

I fall quicker each time to the black

Starlet night that glues me

with it's symmetry.

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