(an erasure poem)
I call to the muses, for I have no words left. Silently I will respond to your beckons.
Let me study your face, paint it in the sky. Every eyelash, every dimple.
Your hand on my crimson cheek, and I drift to sleep with encapsulated joy,
Spring dragged on, I spent days in your arms, lying under the sharp sky.
Admiring the hopeless romantics and watching each other blow out birthday candles.
Playful laughter and slushies filled those days, as the sun set and the sun rose.
Sickeningly sweet, nauseating strawberry pulp rests raw on my lips, thinned.
I sing the haikus that I wrote on the cracked art table, mourning midday sun.
I call to the muses, for I have no words left. Silently I will respond to your beckons.
Let me study your face, paint it in the sky. Every eyelash, every dimple.
Your hand on my crimson cheek, and I drift to sleep with encapsulated joy,
Spring dragged on, I spent days in your arms, lying under the sharp sky.
Admiring the hopeless romantics and watching each other blow out birthday candles.
Playful laughter and slushies filled those days, as the sun set and the sun rose.
Sickeningly sweet, nauseating strawberry pulp rests raw on my lips, thinned.
I sing the haikus that I wrote on the cracked art table, mourning midday sun.
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