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I notice the way you wiggle in and out of your clothes
because your curves impede their journey.
I notice how you brush your teeth every morning,
always in circular strokes, never linear.
Sometimes I brush the same as you do, and sometimes differently
to feel a man apart.

I’d give you a flower if it wouldn’t die in your midst,
but it’ll die.
What would keep a flower from fading away?
Death.

Lips and legs slightly parted, both ready to speak,
until a might comes and steals their courage.
In a moment of utter loss you find everything;
no sooner is the return that it’s all lost.
A memory remains,
like in your limp arms the corpse of a child who was living laughing only a moment ago.

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