ode to Gemini

the tug of your otherness
zings between my ears—
your hypnotic clinical timbre
burrito-wrapping my smiley-faced mirror
of a warped Disneyesque vignette.

your tin pan deadpan hi-dee-ho:
a pungent aphrodisiac, feeding

mnemonic machinations
of moments in meta.

“deadpan is my default setting. it works.”

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