[an apology of sorts,]
Ryan Laks

indigence of it anyway
might wince the cover blown

my divvies my timidity behind my most
slow going genuine concealment
my well with
weighings

accept the purpose anyway
accept the coquetry
in

possibly unwashed socks
intermingling and over
from

his tree
humble calamity the
opposites direction her
companion

wounds to make us feel
blood i never
knew you

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