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| stork daddy |
your eyes are sometimes unfathomable, cold forged stones obscured by the rippling algorithms a curious child can make of a stream. Or sometimes full, and apparent like a chess board, overwhelming still the way the moon informs the romantic shortforms of insects and angels alike, too many to hear whisper. Their strategies feel like swooning, and conquer and surrender are both wet grass. Survival- evergreen laden heavy with snow. I cannot touch you directly as they do, although their scraping is what we've wished of and warped to violins. No, I must crawl up your sides, a rebellious sap, which earns every pause, every cloud i freeze into a dragon or a sigh. I build slow castles for you to inhabit, crumbling and reforming in the empty world of this page. THese words move even when i seem still. |
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