Fickle, my friend.

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I wish I hadn’t already told you
while you were rolling down polka dot
hills and lemon flavored
grass blades
while we were dipping our toes
in sugar-sweet rivers of condensed milk
that I loved Tuesday
for his
tidal wave eyes and fox-furred robes

because I’ve been down that road
and I’ve gasped for saccharine-sweet water
under purple skies of black velvet
clouds and
I’ve sat by the elm tree and waited
for that wrinkled
brown face that stood outside my window
day after night and
I’ve had a long dance with him
with those spear-tossing
stars and
I’ve had a long dance with him

about stuffed polar bears and
barbie doll combs
lamps made of coke bottles
and coke bottles of gold
and now I’ve come to realize
while we roll down these happy hills and
sing songs of redemption
while we hold jellied hands and
toddle with life
that

I always loved Friday.

Created: Jul 25, 2010

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