those beautiful spots
the freckles on my heart
you picked them off
with a sliver
stripped
a cocktail stick
of ancient cedar.

you dipped them
in fog
before feeding them
tiny cones of mist
baby cornet scars
back to me
with a dollop of strawberry sauce
wrung from a vein
I left open.

and there were holes
a million counted
where your toothpicks and cocktail sticks
some snapped
were greying in my heart.

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