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by Starr Osborne
Betrayal Conversations are prized possessions. If I could, I’d bottle them up place them on the shelf like fine china. Priceless possessions, pieces of everything we are everything that we will ever become. I only wish you wouldn’t gift them to others, as though you could take them back. I watch as they crack and rust, under outside interpretations. I want to lock our cabinet, fall victim to solitude, keep you, too, on those shelves. Perhaps them, they’ll remain priceless, a safety to myself. Can you promise when you hold each cup you’ll never share its ink? The printed flowers, careful cursive is of our own lovely making. Bless your mind over the wrath of my heart when I see someone tainting our pieces to complement her own excitement.
Poetry