Questions I’d only dreamed of asking
tumble dry and start detaching
from the safety belt I’d looped
around my one last baby tooth.

Answers I can’t believe I’ve given,
Since when is one and one forbidden?
Friends make the apron strings a noose
Tied to their last baby tooth.

Contaminants of the same vein
exist in books and picture frames,
and polar planes that separate, displaying
sodden memory banks.
Turn spruce into holy dictations,
Flip each wish-list in frustration.
Gaze under the tree in between every dream,
nothing left for you.
nothing left for me.

Questions that thrive on nocturnal rations
and yearn for human interaction
need to shed this pseudo-youth,
extracted from my last baby tooth.

i don’t think this is done, but who knows~*`

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