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A slow breaking and mending
of blood and bone
fit for the poorest
of ivory souls.
Pour tomber, pour courir,
pour mourir; no less!

Mademoiselle
No one, to you,
do tell.
A dream,
perhaps a nightmare,
that died in your arms
much too long ago.


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Thursday, August 16, 2007
No fucking way
When rain falls like this,
your perfect chocolate skin, comes to mind.
Some switch in my head goes off,
and I swear
I can hear your breathing..
your breathing between kisses,
your sighs,
your breathing so entangled in my own
that breaths become kisses themselves.
The rain continues to fall, and
some ghost of those arms
and hands
make their way
up
and down
the skin of my back.
The droplets slide down my windows,
and I feel you and your breath
and your kisses on my neck
the way I feel the chill on my legs;
I see my soul reaching out to pull you close,
the way my actual arms reach
for coffee and sheets.
Every inch of me aches
for you:
you and your stares,
those looks, that face..
you and our limbs intertwined,
and your hands in mine.
How can the memory of your contour against mine,
dominate every thought and sense of my mind and flesh?
How can it pain me so, to not have you with me?
I want you, all the time..

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