Potato

Potato

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It seems we live in this book

I run across paper just like you

I Have me some paper love.

I fancy running into you. My best pages.

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But how long is our story my love?

Do you ever ask yourself this question

How many pages have been flipped

since the pen bled out our names

I know the ink is sweet and…

we haven’t seen our sour days yet

I should probably not ask this but. potato

We could be a year long or a century perhaps

look around you

characters in a script. That’s what we are

I’m glad we are written in one language, one story

What if you were someone else’s experience?

And I was looking at you from shelves away

I’d never feel your arms or own your scent

I’d have to read about you

They won’t let you know I was doing so

 feel my jealousy in how fast I’ll skim through any females

Feel my love when I read about how you sleep

i’d be heartbeats into stealing ink to write me as your woman

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But let’s face it my love

I’d get caught. Potato.

But that’s all a what if

For now I have you in my heart and eyes

We are my current read… I’m engrossed

I have us printed out

Copied and pasted everywhere

And maybe the last chapter is full of wedding bells and alters

But sadly, If we last less than our babies

Less than our first kiss

Then I blame the writer. Unless the writer

Is God.
potato

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