about value.

when the loops of recurring
hate has erased letter by letter
the bleeding blots of love
through and through your scarf,
i think it is time i grew older,
and you, so young,
such stubborn ideas,
and oh yes, yes,
society loves you.

ignorantly your laughter
rapes your tears, giving birth
to a diamond fish with wings,
shedding light golden feathers 
of hope, of other gaudy things
i once found proud imitations of 
in the solid, empty ground.

a tall glass without water,
wine, milk or juice, without
disappointment, without
purpose, without
possession,
like smudges from forbidden
fingers, forgotten robberies,
rewritten wish lists without
words or content, in my hand,
empty palms, blistering fingers,
creaky joints and noisy knuckles...

adoration, admiration, and
jealousy (though not invited), all
at your feet, cradled in white
sandals, mild and 
temperate in a very,
very long, sunny winter,
standing above average,
straight and thin,
with chapped but perfect lips
of strawberry ink, soft
and dull like fog, warm
romantically wrinkled smiles...

you, born to be snow white,
and i, a melt of everyone else.

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