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his unmade adolescent face

still touched with sleepiness

at six o’clock in the evening

as if he’s incapable of ever fully waking up.

a smattering of pimples

at its peripheries make him

seem improbably young,

unknowingly defenceless,

yet the victory is his all along.

his vulnerability, in heavy-lidded eyes

and unsure hands, shields him from harm.

and he is blessed with the enviable self-

possession of the twelve-year-old

to whom nothing really matters all that much.

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