The history
stitched across
the bridge
of my nose
in carnation
pink creases says
heed the
jutted pull
of a slithering
zipper striking
from a
sleepless
sleeping
bag snake
preying on
an eager
teenage girl
tum bling a round
a boy-shaped
blob also
not sleeping
on a
bed of
undulating
sand
with
no
known curfew
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