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 Dec 2013 Andrew Traverso
August
She smelled strongly of coffee and cigarettes.
Was that the last time that we met? I forget.
I dreamt about her breath, her beautiful face.
They still permeate every single membrane.
I wake, my fingers ache to lay on soft skin.
*But emptiness fills the air, and she isn't there.
Amara Pendergraft 2013

— The End —