I’m Happiest When I Hit

I feel my absolute sexiest after a tough
dance around my room. I try to wash my
handsome lemon before bed, a guilty
Yorkshire pudding of time. If you have bold
eyes, lawless cheeks, keep everything in
its true hue, synthetic vibrancy underneath
like beets. Parsnips. (You won’t believe
spring flowers.) Ready? For a long time, I
stood, feeling embarrassed, out of work,
damaged. Bursting with lab-grade potency.


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