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--- T A H N E E R   O K S M A N

One day
the border has to break
a subtle change--
the rip of a petal
colliding with our roots
torn out.

Our blubbering mouths quivering with the words we shape then confuse into memories scenes that first appeared on a movie screen.

But wrapping fingers in chords of fish rope, a constant reminder, the language of fists hiding magic between tight fingers

real memories linger, breathing song breaths while we sleep dreaming of mouths purple and wide creases decorating lips aged with the pleasure of our youths.

The border crumbles into one thousand perplexed grins the hum of an apartment abandoned long ago

the enslavement of nicknames and the names we named ourselves framed, surrounding bookshelves with frizzy smiles minutes gone by or missed altogether.

And when that brooding shadow develops eyes and a shape colors the room black makes to touch you

we scramble, we hide beside the kitchen sink rubber gloves on our hands the same clock ticking outlining numbers as they wash down the sink with the dirty dishwater.

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