freckles on bare calves
wine that isn't needed
like footnotes of our pasts
Fires in the iron
guns checked at the door
strands of different colors
on a class act and his floors
Out of season oysters
symmetry be damned
threadbare torn to ribbons
beneath two clove-hitched hands
Captives bound by plaster
a Monday sweeping dust
forever seems a short time
to fireworks like us.
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