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Mar 2013
crack another thermometer open
on the broken bathroom sink,
pour yourself into me like mercury
and pan the bed of my stomach
for multitudes of gold flecks
like however many myriads
of sickly pill bottles in your
dresser drawer of socks.
see all
the shredded speckled petals
i ripped up before i'd let
the deer get to them;
i'm colorblind,
and i can't tell
the sun's reflection from plastic,
or tulips from the broken
pottery outside my front door.
and far least from another beer,
and another fifth of whatever
could be fit under your shirt
and never a chair pulled up to speak,
from standing like a soapbox
more suited to cleaning
than to preaching.
pour yourself into me like mercury,
because it's so much easier
when my veins weigh me down
to distraction, than being able
to think of hydrangeas again.
bobby burns
Written by
bobby burns  20/Non-binary/Blue Ridge Mountains
(20/Non-binary/Blue Ridge Mountains)   
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