fur in the tea cup, lined
to taste the hems
of foxglove and hyacinth
-the whole veneer
reveals it cracks and fissures -
and bent to drink
like ponies, paintbrush
of sating thistles
combing our lost knots
and hollows, sized
by scissors: schisms
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is this real?
2 comments:
yes.
i love this poem.
i'm anti-fur except when it's lining teacups.
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