Suckling babe with pollen drunk eyes,
I will feed you on dreams for your success.
My tepid morning milk you turn away from
I'll dehydrate, sweep dry under a run in the foyer.
Later, through Spanish love sonnets,
four track demos, and closeted postcards
I will rehabilitate. Lick by lick
page by page. I'll unearth, churn, and
debase my bright blossom's happy endings,
one sharpened pencil tip at a time.
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