The vinegar and brown paper
Have patched my swollen head,
But my heart valves still leak for you.
And those who would try and take your stead—
They pay their dues,
But can’t fill your shoes,
Or put theirs under my bed.
But turn, and cast a glance my way,
With a warm look, cauterize
The hole between my ventricles
That seeks approving eyes,
And with Love’s sweet tickles,
To tender clavicles,
Correctives may improvise.
-jenn long
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