Null
Sky sister and the green girl
bleed, baby. And blush.
A hard kiss is how they heal.
These women make warm
the cold universe.
The breeze across
their broken bellies
does not faze them.
Empty, their baskets,
their cartons of eggs
(even when full).
Voids,
vessels
ready to be filled.
Ready, but not eager.
Not waiting.
“Nothing,” says the green girl, “is wrong
with nothing.”
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