From Girl w/ HopeSamuel Wharton
Before my necklace caught on the rough exterior wall of the place, I thought of you. After, I only thought, fuck. Here's to the eclat of our dour love for life. Smother me with eglantine. The summer triangle shines above your head, tiara of convenient timing. My blouse – glowing deep aubergine, your favorite color – yearns for you. Inside, if I jump, I can just touch the ceiling. Who was it who said, eggs have no business dancing with stones? I remember: somebody's grandmother. Here is my hope: in reading this, your eyes will fill with glass, my mouth with grass, & all my bangles fall away.
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