I won’t compare our love to a red, red rose, no matter where

the blood poisoning spreads to, drop by drop, pregnant and quivering

I won’t compare the world to anybody’s oyster, no matter how

quick and easy you can suck it down if you hold your nose and squint

I won’t compare this poem to plums in the icebox, no matter when

I lurch into an apology, so sweet, so cold, the pit tasting like throat cancer

I won’t compare myself to a plate spinner, no matter how

many clouds drop to the ground and shatter into spheres of safety glass

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