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Lizz Parkinson
Poems
Sep 2012
To be followed; a heartbeat.
A deep inhale, caught
across the dip between your
shoulder blades.
I am only the small space between my fingers,
the inconsequential rifts that disappear when your hand
slides into mine.
You are only the soft shallow sound of
footsteps coming up the stairs
so I know
I am no longer alone, here.
Written by
Lizz Parkinson
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