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Characters
All I write is him
His eyes that bloom like April
As we print ourselves in sand
The serifs that trail from every word
Fallen feathers at our feet
The nights-
When we were more than naked
We were transparent
I could feel each rib against mine
See right into the core of his chest
A pulsating brass mirror
I write him
And I fold him into fiction
Furiously sharpen the seams
Thumbnail pushing paper
Just Nouns loving verbs, I say
Just nouns loving verbs.
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