Who would’ve known
my childhood could come apart
easy as Lincoln Logs, quick
as a first kiss.
And who would’ve known
lust, deceit and obsession
were ever that young,
all Slinky and Silly Putty.
Who would’ve known
there were rooms in those forts
I made out of bed sheets,
that every kiss since
would come with conditions,
warnings and the broken
underworld of imaginary
friends.
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