marry me a poor man

smothering you in nectar’s regular burl

of the seas during dark purple squalls .

what perfect script it could give the gulps

of air keeping us well there . of our lip press

confess tell-all suggest shelter and or storm

our hidden form smeared -edited- re-checked .

bound each to each eating the peach clerkly

quirky in receipt .  iou . yom . print be fecked

we can’t be billed for living in each others heads .

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