L I N E S

written
with
deliberate
strokes;
arrows, aimed at skies-
and scissor-sharp.
Like your name.

And this curve-
a perfect camouflage.
You bend me
to distraction
so I won’t see
(until it’s too late).

I cut my lips
on mouthfuls of your name.
My blood curls
in arcs of smiles
(and with a taste
that lingers).

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