All our love
and all our secrets
line wicked, neoned bar walls,
subject to deadlines and hunger.
And your truths
and their boredoms
equate to a great cinnamoned
warmth, ready to celebrate.
All our love
dispatched and patchworked
and seasoned truantly,
tastes like a decade.
And your fears
and my anxiousnesses
wash off in pyramids with
bubbles and action.
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