did my love merit marks - commas, full stops
did it fuel business, make rhymes flow quicker
magic freedom into crystallised hope,
weekend loveshot irises, did it flicker
once in your blingflamed veins and quietly die?
or was it a recurring decimalsung offkey though holy, strung through your “I”
candied on your tongue like a capital
pulped in your bone in the sponge of marrows?
it asked no marks from me, I can tell yousafely, nothing punctuation, no close
and no throat grabbing start, I never knew
what begun and if it’s finished with me yet
it gave no period at this close of sonnet
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