// from echos across honeycomb floors of the cityhall:
half-cut planets your eyes
an orbit from pupil to the lines around your mouth open
i miss your touch
your tongue shapes
experiences you sense like mints dear child you transform
every tip, joint and toe points a different direction
rolling while steady black eyes
a fairy glitching from naughty and back
a doubling with similar hair a
braid straight and tall
then bent and squirm
fairy and you you crawl on cars
faces squish smash pop
you turn into doors
your face
it shines like a television
transmittable fire
very difficult to look
away
you see differences in air you gather
us by pressing the tips of your fingers together
with timed precision
we become your language
– your mouth contains the whole ocean
/__plsma
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