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So now I will paint your face
and explain why it scares me:

Two eyes the dark of monolithe, of concentrated heroin.
The lids more like a doll’s rocking back and forth from sleeping.
Two little stars (#005e61) sit forever from the fall of the lashes
just above the cheekbones, some real cowboy’s cliffs
that make to sharpen their edges on the curve of my neck.
I only see your teeth when you’re smiling.

Yours is a face that follows me soft and padded and circling.
Sometimes your top lip shakes against a sudden anger,
the voice it picks up pace, but the tone never wavers.
I cannot see what you’re seeing
I imagine it’s something remembered.

The sway of your history has started to age you,
not the way a man would age,
not a falling of the skin from the bone,
but a paling and polishing
Yes. Where did your whiskey go?

The sidewalk’s a hard gray,
the air hazy from the heat escaping mid day.
I lift my chin, tapping my cheek, one time winking.
Let’s make a contest of this shall we.


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