Frosty white tips on a cake
Flow like waves in the ocean
With our bodies wrapped,
Enraptured in a white lake, drowning
In the sun till our skin glows

Glassy and passive, that’s how it feels
Looking through a window, sitting like
Two casts constrict my moving appendages
Like a cast constricts my heartbeat, and I bite
And I swallow it somewhere far down

And around the bend, closer than
I’ll ever want to know, you sit
Laying low and I want to stroll in
Dawn after the sun can stare at our backs
But we can turn and face it, staring back.

I try to cut through the cake, but
There’s nothing here except fake plastic.
The knife lies jagged on the surface, while
You try to burn candles melting through

To the purpose, emitting gases, I bequeath,
“That’s not a birthday cake!” a statement
Left, lingering in the air as smoke hides what’s beneath.


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