standing un/edited in
the sun,
lens flare (and starbursts)
brushes
on my head/the freckles beam
and
maybe it's you.
maybe you're a stoner,
un/done,
calling me/from above
and
waiting
to catch me/in a net
of
ultra/violet
light.
that's all.
maybe it was you.
i keep checking,
opening
the/pandora's little box,
exposing
the world (with light), and
finding
nothing. it's you.
maybe it's you.
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