spokes
My love, come down
from the act of killing
the sincerely
of tributes.
Your cousin's
been jumping
on trampolines
of her own making,
like sweet devoted.
How rhyming
I have heard
is magically
unseen,
like spokes
in a bicycle's Tyre.
Fanatically
and rapidly,
on a pavement,
slamming pressure,
into opposed virtue
since days of our youth.
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