sweltering in its own fumes of nectarine,
try to move it and it hardens,
turns from tickle-me-pink
to a noxious tangerine
its sweetness has decayed,
you never wanted it anyway.
A light bulb flickers on the nightstand,
while two lovers sleep restlessly,
you try to twist it but you squeeze too hard -
its fragile glassy walls crumble
and blood trickles down through
the laugh lines of your hand,
light was never in demand.
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