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circlegames

Robins eggs are the brightest blue of spring,
imagine one
shattered by clouds that are the warmest grey,
like your old t-shirt perfectly worn.

You hang onto your glory, pretending to still be as
green as the day you were born,
but our lips were torn by the first lipstick I stole from my grandmother,
blaringly red, we were starving by late fall.

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