Diaphonization
She stood behind the curtain, certain
That we couldn’t see her, even though her shoes
Were clearly visible underneath.
Better to have your outer shell collapse than to rot from the inside.
Leached of all pigment
You fade but I can still feel your hand
your breath in my ear
A wax museum on the boardwalk, sand on my lips
All of us wax, or fat, or
for the purest (luckiest) among us, glass
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