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From Girl w/ Hope

Samuel 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.

Samuel Wharton

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