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March 2019

I woke with dew

Cooling my scalp

And glimmering in my hair.

That you sprinkled it on me while I slept

By sense, cannot be,

And love falls without reason

On the longing

As often as a new dawn meets them.


My worry lives by sense

But strangely never dies by it

And has seeped,

Like water melting of ice,

From my pores in the past, and therefore…

The dew could be molten worry

And nothing more.


But just to refresh my wax-heavy skin,

I pour my doubt

Into our embrace,

And it trickles through your fingers

To the floor,

Leaving me dry in your arms.


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