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If I printed out my thoughts on fabric and wrapped him
in colour, the oceans drifting into his pupil, worlds
would dip past the coffee and spin into skewed battle
grounds, smirking blondes who want to take him with
them and life in the fire, knowing that the movement
of stars and science are the same and he would twirl
back letting water freeze whenever he saw the ground,
coming back seeing me naked and imagined.

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