The Glue We Do Poem by Abby Tweed
The Glue We Do
Your head is hot like bottled sun
Yet your feet are cold in sanded paste
Your face is split in half
Your arms are melting
Melting
Melting into my kitchen door.
We're here with a crystal chandelier
Our hands free of superficial adhesives
With fingers lingering
My palms are sliding
Sliding
Sliding across the frosted floor.
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5/3/2024 10:43:32 PM # 1.0.0.1119
