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It falls like cold

on the desert;

like poured coins,

and fits in your hand

                                                                                             like a seashell, with a song you can hear, if you hold it up to

your ear 

 

 

It turns sunbeams

into daffodil sauce,

writes your name in the sky

with alphabet soup  (minus a couple of letters)

and loves you                                                                                  better than Jesus, but without the sacrifice 

 

You weren’t born

to be a shotgun,

you weren’t made

to be a knife;

you set yourself on fire

                                                                                                       when there’s nothing left to burn, but you can't

put down the match 

 

 

 

It fits in your hand

like a desert.

 

Runs its finger                                                                                   over your lips and says hush, and you do.

 

You fall like a girl

who once

was a rainbow.

 

It gives you a soft   Judas kiss.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    and you shudder, because it feels perfect 

 

 

 

cowritten

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