besotted,
i pull hairs out of
my head
like postage stamps.
they'll use them as
forensic evidence.
i
lick the seal and
send them
on their way
to you,
with love.
oh
the way
you open me up,
cold sores on your tongue,
paper cuts
on your heart.
your
strings mislead me.
you play
harmonically sad
and misused until
(and so) love
is just like the death
of e-mail,
once again.
and forever more.
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