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Day 23: Tupelo Press 30/30 Poetry Project ( National Poetry Month)


There is my half heart. 

I find it 

in my mother’s womb. It doesn’t 
permeate through the placenta.

That is why I’m not falling in love.

When I peel white paint from the iron 
balustrade at your lake house, you entangle 
sanded sheets in a net of stars 

and write a poem.

Am I dying without knowing my naked 

body under the moonlight?

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