yes, i’m the heat of a promise of snow.
my friends think i’m a Vegetarian, so i lie
and say i am. if only i could have black sunglasses,
cross my knees and stare into a horrifying use of contrast
(white jackets mean a blizzard for sure). i don’t even drink hot,
so what difference will it make? still, i keep putting off roasting some
heavy meat, watching air run off—an inverse
precipitation. pick me, the slight jostle of a woman getting shit done.
my nose is running, but—validation for validation! eating
gummies is the closest i can get to ham: touch my neck please. i’m not needy!
i’m a Vegetarian; i’ve got something for patience.
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