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Spaghetti knots

a window

your arms are the blistering paint

of a window that leads to a

chest where there is glass

not much protecting you from my arms

that could smash to see the outside

the trees that soak the rain

that is connected to an ocean

that leads to another land

which has my shadow waiting in a dark corner

to come out and greet the sun

to remove the salmon pink curtains curlved

over a dry branch of

you

you who is skin and skeleton

you who is great and grizzly

you who is not who was

when i entered into your ring

waiting to be picked up

like a child coming home from school

that will linger into work then to love

and old age

or perhaps like that same child

caught on a cold door knob

that is warmed by second hand clothing

worn and wearing back to you

who is the same vacant holes and stitches

a collection of a language burrowed

hands that were told they were hands

lips told to say lips

and me who was yours

until harmed

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About kacperniburski

I am searching for something in between the letters.

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