restraint is an art
i intend
to master.

but my jealousy is erupting
into fits of flowers:
roses for the look,
an entire book of slow-cooked
jasmine for the scent I wore,
one vine of honeysuckle to
to bind you to summer where I was
wet and still and your personal swimming pool
you could wade through,
catch some respite,
I’m sending
my future a bunch with no clear note



wafting through your bedroom
door and sitting there
much like the lie I chose,
the way I wear the
carefully arranged
and cool.



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