art
It’s morning and I’m cutting my fingers off in front of an apple
My daughter
makes a noise
so small
her hair
can be heard
A mirror
for its things
has come back
From which hand
Where morning
It’s morning and I’m cutting my fingers off in front of an apple
My daughter
makes a noise
so small
her hair
can be heard
A mirror
for its things
has come back
From which hand
Where morning

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