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fever pitch








I.

Last night the moon came to me
and whispered
secrets I did not wish to hear.

She left on small feet
with my heart clenched tightly
between her ragged, front teeth.

II.

I stare at my palm, flex, and imagine a fist.

The window is broken
and I am restless.





oh god oh god this is never easy

    I plan to revise this poem: please leave constructive criticism!
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