Make mine white, with lots of trim,

Placed by talons, next to him;


I lost you in Mirrorful, my Dear,

Cause you touched a piece of him then;


In Mirrorful—I was picked up

From the ground—an abandoned shard;


I had so much to tell you

But I wiped all the words by accident.




And the baby we were to have had—

Well—it never came to cords;


It just rolled ‘round in the dirt.

The chorus in us reached its heights, and my eyes,


They squinted more than ever before,

And the light was splintered by my wet;


I kept one, laid it beside him,

Gave the rest back to you—the leftover,




To keep wrapped up,

In Mirrorful;


You know just where to look,

Within the kisses in the crease,


Placed with care by that remnant of our first touch,

Held and kissed closed,


Like eyelids,

When you slept next to me—now him—now alone.



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