our plan was to marry
those freckled twins
who owned the orchards
we dreamed that each day
we’d come home,
throw back the sheets
and find so many pink ladies.
we broadcasted our desires
over the airwaves, but never
heard anything back.
the nearby lake was
the deepest thing I knew.
it took our words
down to its rocky center,
lapped them up with
gentle waves.
we told ourselves that this,
this century, must be
the difficult one.
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