Never spoken until it’s written
Eyes warmed by the well-chilled sentence
Nothing’s spoken unless it’s written
Eyes warmed then the wells beneath trickle
Now, to remember “there are invisible wells in her eyes”
When nothing’s broken when one’s told and bitten
Well, the cold trespasses, the cage of my ribs
But the armours we bought, how badly it fits
Time coating our shelves with dust
Time scraping our joy unknowingly
How many times, I don’t remember,
But I was warned about the impending rupture
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