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Mar 2015
it's six am and we are cuddled on a mostly deflated air mattress
the air is cold and you smell like a mix of sleep sweat and alcohol
i don't mind it
you whisper to me in your rumbly voice
stories of steve
walking swordfish
chicken heart
you laugh when i tell you about the meatball i stole

when i imagine you now i don't see your face
i feel your untouchable safety and
wish you into tangibility
although dimensions separate us
i can't do anything but tell myself
you're right around the corner
in order to carry on
Written by
-  America
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