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Trust
Dustin Pickering
(USA)
How can a poem bring death to my eyes
when the sorcery of your touch lingers still on my hands?
There was a tiny creature between us
and by my fingers, broken.
Mirrors tell the time for us.
We know our bearings
in the quasar-stolen flight.
I hide your beauty to protect it
but dark tempers batter me.
Stars decay against your form,
devising secret wishes I may kiss upon.
If your face divulges secrets,
the secret is a song of harmonic friction—
I want you to trust my intention,
so please don't question my speech.
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