MODES OF DISCOMFORT

A pale dew bead dropped
in-between the vinegar two of me,
formed into a third eye bindi,
the moderator of the right and the left.

It fell from the star chest of a salmon petal.
I fell in the temple,
the network of cherry blossoms,
life thriving in a cemetery
over crimson eye scratching,
every moment of discomfort latching
onto these closed eyes–
the left and the right.

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