not popped, that grow so large
and simmer by the ceiling,
pre-empting bust,
like bubbles flirting
at the surface, threatening
pop? I am in love.
It crackles under duvets like
electric blankets,
spilling sparks into my groin.
I swell like blisters
that grow hard and burst
like fountains that erupt
like beer cans,
shaken to the point of bang,
and tin, exploded, shines
like water falling
into water. Water welling
in the mouth
and water, pooled, tastes salted.
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