paragon


Intellect, sickly sweet
Past tense
I’ve never had the privilege to inspect my cowardess
Do we ever see innocence in someone’s rosy cheeks?
Hands wrinkled
Like the rough draft
Of an engagement speech
Outweighed by bacteria
The philosopher, a master
He wouldn’t let let me speak
Do I look like it’s on the tip of my tongue?
Just one of those things?
I pulled my hair until it fled
Two right feet
I used the chalk to stencil antics
He had to, he would have
Anarchists, models, lexicographers too
Fanatics, the common bird
All framed in lengthy letters
Inked by the pyromaniac
Sealed not with wax for she’s afraid to be branded
Rather a lilac kiss
Strength tried and tested

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