Screen
your hands, working their way in and out of
the sink, twisting against the inevitable
the sink, twisting against the inevitable
ends of your unending love
you realise that if you were to look
inside
you would not be greeted with the sight
of hammers and tongs
working on an automaton's
body to be
completed with wheels and springs
meant to farewell a tongue
displaced
from its habitation within or out
side displacement itself
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