Hour Seven

There’s an elephant in the room
It stands on my lips
Wraps its thick gray trunk
Around my throat
Constricting breath
Restricting honesty
Prodding me to go on
With charades and games
What this circus needs
Is a ringmaster without a whip
One with purring baritones
Or soothing tenors
To lull love into the spotlight
And make sense of the show

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