[i’ll wash them from her while she sleeps]

i know too much about being invited
two fingers on the thoughtless device
and the window with no blinds
the arches of her skinny little feet supporting all those dreams
i’ll wash them from her while she sleeps
here are three new colors stacked up tightly packed
towering troubling hung up and visually demanding
imitating sad bruised and beautiful
bellowing bruised beautiful and sad
falling beautiful sad and bruised
the thing about being invited here
two fingers forced into the soft doorbell
beneath her ribs, she knows how the world feels here
and no one can take away her demands, her vision.

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