Ode to Buzzcut Ballerina

You have the type of face I could write odes to 

Your nostrils sing the graces of places I have never gone and probably will never go

I want to climb your eyelids; hike the entirety of your jawline as a last "hurrah" before college

Spend my nights on your ear-lobes and my days in your blow-holes shoot me to the moon and back scoff at my foolish shenanigans because I love the way your mouth looks when you smirk

The way your eyes light up when you call me a bastard through a laugh

You are a broken buzzkut ballerina and I am your pointe shoes; beaten and bloody dance me to the sun;;;;;darling. Make me your routine. 

The End

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