make me cry little sweetheart
with your round cheeks
and disco shoes
there is only so much you can say in the morning
that won't tear a hole in the ceiling.
yet you say Mozart
because I say Keats.
others sing as if we were their muse
but all we see is a sea of red and a sail made of lining
and we're stuck on this boat as if we're two letters kerning
unable to break apart.
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