to the beat of the new
ancestors' breasts?
Pulsing for supple
support, the supplemental
love through screens and
streams of music, my
vitamin, I don't share.
My friends are wavelengths,
radiowaves, never waver
when it hammers down.
Was I ever ever loved, most
wholly and truly me, is it real
on outside that kitchen door?
It couldn't be.
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