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May 2012
He’s a breath of fresh air, a high, clear place
In this low town
He is pure adventure, with freedom for a face

With piercing eyes, he breathes slowly and shifts
Carefully as he holds me
He smells like ink and paper as into sleep he drifts

He does not always speak, and his tongue never slips,
But I know when he does
He means every beautiful word that falls from his lips.

We climb high mountains and sit up in the trees
Everything is silent
Except his voice gliding through me like a breeze

He’s deep like the water out at sea and we have been
Lonely, and when it stains
Us with darkened tears, we will kiss each other clean
Gracie Ghost
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Gracie Ghost
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