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If I walked in the night
and stars would shine on
my separate layers of skin
and dig deep into ancient
greek letters, writing names
of vegetables on my soul
and organizing thoughts
into ideas that become my name,
when waves washing over my
eyes, your sight like soldiers
standing out of the sea, goggles
guiding them, shouting fire to
the coast and the coast playing
houses like music. Then
you could go home and think about
me like I’m not the type
to want what is written for
my heart.