cinnamon crusted

in the long spaces
between loves picked up and cast aside
like jacks on a playground
she savored sweetness
knew her own sugar
was desirable to all but those
who she wanted to give a taste

she felt herself dissolving
against concrete realities
that saw the feet of these loves
walk past her for ivory towers
and alabaster princesses
forgetting she carried brighter pearls
they mistook for costume jewelry others wore

cinnamon crusted
her love sits waiting to be tasted
as suns grow dim


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