squishing a now dead gnat between my fingers
harsh light reflecting off a white paper
can't say how much i love this
but i can can tell you how much i hate them
body's half warm, half cold.
cold feet at eighteen serves you right
i can tell by your long denim skirt,
that you're trying to hard to cover up
overlooked grass with oil marks
winter growing weak
gradually, surely, retreating with each day growing lighter.
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