mr dorian, i read your cliff's notes, your pretty lips, face from a time when a forehead was a brow and hair rippled, well mine just grows and i'm right in front of you, mr dorian, watch me, hands and tomatoes, breath and garlic,
six tomatoes, is how the poem starts, see these hands in the kitchen skinning tomatows on scalding water, their weeping skinless the blood in my handskin a fury. see these veins in these fingers, watch them carry blood back to the best heart you'll ever know, a heart beating for these hands skinning tomoatoes in the kitchen.
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