everyone wants to be
the exception, but
nobody wants to be
made an example of.
you want to be the survival
rate.
you don’t want to be
the story mothers
talk about with
gulps seeded in their bellies,
with tears pooling in their mouths,
briney and wet.

everyone’s love
should last like love locks,
like reckless abandon
and a 5 dollar mechanism
that makes your ethereal
immortal.
but even love locks
get land locked,
become weighted by
the unbearable lightness
of burden,

and the keys,
the keys swim
because your eternity
still needs a chance.

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