Movie
You return in sequences;
peripheral memories nod
like wire-sprung dipping birds.
Your ruby-dark triangle
the V of your asking,
an opiate of drenched blooms.
I am reprising scenes
cut from any official showing.
Senses lost in a long darkened cinema,
and I cannot make it back
until unscented by your ghost.
Scenes whir on
under closed eyes.
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