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Jul 18
i waited for you to

deposit bumble bees down my

throat with your mouth

they will safely disarm their stingers

and bring them all to me in a square envelope

‘shake it’ i tell you

the stingers become the poem i wanted to write

a really lovely one that tells you you’re a campfire warming my nose

that you’re pretty

it isn’t all roses though

it feels thorny somehow

yeah, i say, ‘i meant to take those out’

my throat and limbs are

fuzzy i say

but you find this, contradictory
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