Hue

The morning

After the schizophrenia,

born and raised;

whiskey whiskey

feather by feather

on floral range,

with soapy water

trying to contrast; somehow,

with the troubled bridge

above which your tied hair

sways; have I ever told you

they match; with your

refusing eyes? that it reflects

the tranquil

of what runs underneath; that

your true palette; the one

you never want

to show, paints the sky

a hue that

starts with the letter

a

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