pomegranate
palms
tangerine phalanges
fizzypop
fingernails
that the
shortskirt sugarplum fairies
carry on the
ends of their arms
when they dance
in the dreams of
every boy who
ever lived
For now I can
barely talk
them into dining
from my finest
china let alone
eating out of
my perpetually sweatsoaked
sootstained
soft as hardwood
hands
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