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May 2016
You are a July campfire
And you, baby hands stretched out in warmth,
calloused fingers plucking metal strings
moments of laughter I'd echo for hours

I am the forest, and I sit in awe of you
Frayed blankets over the leaves,
calf's and feet intertwined
other initials carved into my skin.
SilentMetanoia
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SilentMetanoia
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