J. White

The City of Dreams will be good to you;

perhaps, even, as good a girl I was to you (under you),

being adored by you (suffocated by you)

in all of my inebriated scrutiny, whimpering, and reticent nudity.

Perhaps, even, she may further your sobriety and nevertheless influence a Blue Period,

since, after all,

you aspire to imprison Picasso in your casa.

I became an oxford blue in front of you

and a rape green in crevices ideally only seen

by one lover,

though I must thank you (damn you),

not only because you demanded it with a dense hand against each of my cheeks,

but because the City of Dreams will be good to you,


and I an even better cherub to (ab)use before your departure. 

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