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Aug 2011
In the seasons
where leaves break like bones
beneath treading soles,
I tied impetuous hands,
which grazed her hips,
and bound them to the trail
of her hair down her back.

Frigid -- the droplets of ice
beating my veins like
a metronome clock—
hands shook, and dirt
grew beneath nails.

Clouds formed a river of stars
gazing in the blue moon.
I watched as it receded
and dried along the edges of
of the roof.
Drew Brinckerhoff
Written by
Drew Brinckerhoff
755
   Sarah Mae
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