QQQ
Luisa Caycedo-Kimura

We are wordless,
our keyboards locked. We type

the same letter, curved
and cut,
repeatedly,
repeatedly,
until nothing’s on the screen

not even our friendship.

We climbed walls, showed bruises
we’d never confess. Stripped
upholstery,

let the foam sputter
thinking it was snow.

Planted its roses
on rooftops, hung
crescent moons on the walls.

Unaware
it was all an experiment.

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