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Oct 2018
you could touch my nose if you wanted
it would dip like a lily pad and
spring up a flower the colour of
the white of a newly-born paper,

ready to squiggle into it any scent
you want to give, to
open up the memories
of stories i told you when we were young, and the grown-ups
were sleeping and it was dark but

you could see my eyes, if you
gave the time, they glimmer frequencies
of ripples in ponds in silent night
when no one's looking,
and stars go backwards, up from the

into the sky

and my lips, you could kiss, perhaps
if you understood how to trace meaning
with a forcelessness
from old heiroglyphics,

they quiver when they meet you
like stepping into speech
testing their pink against your langauge
ending up, full purpose
as a rose
at the bottom of my cheeks
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