It's the little untruths
That slip over the edge of
Your sunset and begin
The earliest of my morning
That slip over the edge of
Your sunset and begin
The earliest of my morning
Cup of coffee,
Spilling sideways, streaking
Another little pattern over
The old table
Standing there-
You'd never know how
Easy it is to break
Words down into
Silences that creep
Out of the edge of my
Nightmares, shimmying their
ghastly way
Up my throat
And down yours.
I'm afraid I have been
The witch and the face
The mirror told you
Should stay away.
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