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Jun 2016
the words rarely break your lips, unlike those times when we spent weeks composing letters, weaving our souls into words for the other to pore their eyes over, pens bleeding into paper which we'd press to our chests or even to our faces in the hopes of a whiff of a scent of something familiar, when we were oceans apart,
but now we're only separated by minimal layers of clothing and it's when we're lying heart to heart, that dreamy look in your eyes while you stare into mine, the dark freckles on your pale skin clusters of constellations i can't wait to name, and that gorgeous grin of yours so large i feel embarrassed, 'what?' i always laugh and blush and say, and you pull me closer, arms enclosing me so tight i can't breathe, as if i'll leave - i never will - and that's when i know,
that's how you say it:
thursday 30th june '16 ~ 1.11am
where the daisies grow
     Colm, Paul Hansford and fdg
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