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Jan 2018
Not four hours ago,
you shed your sequined skin, tucked in (up to your chin)
and now already, morning has broken on you
like an egg.

Only half asleep for having to ***,
and for toes cold as the window pane
allowing January's first sun-streams
to turn your mess of hair
to the illusive leaves
of a willow tree.
aleet
Written by
aleet
215
 
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