my walls are not fragile

I'd like to kiss your knees

And at the corner of our kiss, a hem hangs, mid creation

Balancing the fray

A potential collapse, we imitate ourselves

Over and over until we burst

Or a confluence, merging, multiplying

But it's already been played

The kiss ends the world either quiescently or not

And time's teeth are giving little indication of direction

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the delicate peach

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punch soaked