she's tripping--
on dreams of her future,
on the sound of her past.
she's tripping over tangles
tightly gripped in her left hand.

she's tweaking--
plucking petals from the present,
plucking lint from her dress.
she's tweaking out in vain
over a simple goodnight kiss.

Ginger in her hair
and ginger in her bra,
she's getting fingered gingerly
as ginger lilies rot.
 
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