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Mar 2015
Dark notes of cinnamon,
and smoke
from your lip gloss
radiate off my tongue,
piercing the night.

I close my eyes
inhaling deeply,
to hold the specter of the scent
closer.

I yearn to breathe in your body,
but you had already
slipped through my grasp
fading like fog
softly into the moonlight.
Matthew Berkshire
Written by
Matthew Berkshire  Chicago
(Chicago)   
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