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Sairs Quinn Mar 2019
bouquet (n.): a bundle of daisies to my office you had sent.

parfait (n.): your favorite dessert after a whole day with me you spent.

cabaret (n.): the lies you performed while I watched you, center-stage.

ricochet (v.): the hurt that backfired after I realized I'd been played.
just a disclaimer: this series of poems probably won't be based on my own experiences; they're just fun little stories.
  Mar 2019 Sairs Quinn
Bo Burnham
I wrote you a letter,
and then another letter,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a word.

So I wrote you a word,
and then another word,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a sentence.

So I wrote you a sentence,
and then another sentence,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a letter.

I hope it finds you as I found you.

Yours truly,
Yours, truly.
Sairs Quinn Mar 2019
I used to watch
the constellations
glued across my bedroom ceiling
and think "Someday,"
my name will be written
across the galaxies.

Now,
I see the stars light up outside
and think "****.
They cut my power again."
Sairs Quinn Mar 2019
Our story is a love letter.
As long as I live,
I will write to you.
Sairs Quinn Mar 2019
The loneliness
is getting
louder.
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