QQQ
Luisa Caycedo-Kimura
We are wordless,
our keyboards locked. We type
the same letter, curved
and cut,
repeatedly,
repeatedly,
until nothings on the screen
not even our friendship.
We climbed walls, showed bruises
wed never confess. Stripped
upholstery,
let the foam sputter
thinking it was snow.
Planted its roses
on rooftops, hung
crescent moons on the walls.
Unaware
it was all an experiment.
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