i wrote you a poem
and then broke it up into little tiny pieces
i hid them in places
and wanted you to find them
i wanted you to stumble upon them
like eavesdropped secrets
or change in the couch
the last spoonful of ice cream,
cold, smooth, unexpected
but you didn't really get it
my poem remains unread
and you will never know
how i felt about you
then
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