Corde Brisée
Cream
Peaches and cream
and roses
and the thorns that scratch
to make the roses themselves--
you've mastered these colors.
Someone might say you're pretty
but I disagree.
You're something,
but you're sure not pretty.
Here's the truth:
I think you're sort of crazy
but still sort of awesome
but this isn't a love poem,
or anything.
You're pretty decent
and maybe we could be friends,
the whole neurotic
insane thing aside.
I'm thinking that
maybe, though,
you should forget about the roses
because peaches are better
with just regular cream.
You're prettier like that
and I sure hate kissing roses.
Too sharp.
I might change this to a love poem.
Better, naturally.
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