if she tells, i'll say...
no, i don't. and you'll
ask, why?
you'll say
that's a lie.
i'll nod
"i don't hope for hopeless things"
don't hope for soap bubble colors,
not soft baked cookies or soft baked
thoughts
of sunday grass and breezy breaking
voices
soft after hours
and you'll
ask and you'll ask,
no, no, i don't, i don't...
think about white in spring, autumn,
or falling leaves or falling for
falling bodies, failing bodies
hoping for hopeless things.
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