February 23

Frail, these memories, like a heart, or a tale
which breaks each time it’s beat. When ceased, the stitches
knitted together thaw. Please, don’t ask how we fit

on a twin bed, how we squeezed, at dawn,
all our quirks into a kiss, please. Call
up those thoughts and the breeze will erupt
our dust, free lust and our scars.

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Author:

A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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