Press On
Your nails are like ten little Hawaiis
With those airbrushed palm trees
And orange suns
He puts Oahu in his mouth
Real nails outgrow their ornamental masks
One day, he'll memorize
Her freckle constellations
Lips will go un-glossed
Legs will be un-shaven
All the little shields will fall
Soon enough
For now
She holds her pointer fingers parallel
Like outlet slots
Let's go for lightning
I'm feeling stormy
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