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On Asking Too Much 

The flicker
in your window
may have looked to me
like the earth
opening up her fires.
But it wasn’t
even a candle,
no,
it was just your t.v.

It doesn’t matter,
really,
if you prefer a pillow
to your face
and not skin.
The gold in the sky
wants to bronze you
and move around
in your bones,
but of course
you may draw your blinds.
Sleep, my love,
sleep,
if this is your world.
Diamonds are buried
for ages.

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