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What is love?
an egg
under my fingerpads
weighty textured
I’ve heard
volumes hide inside
this Library of Babel
I strike it
against the kitchen sink
the iron bedstead
but it will not open
with needle or Subtle Knife
this embryo of a different life
but if love were the moon
I could bathe in its milk
like the undertows that pull me
dark basins
uncharted oceans
would speak
and I could finally listen
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