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Apr 2019
You are the movement of ******
in a ******’s body– muffled innards aghast
under dim light, crooked spoons stalling
the atom’s speed to a cigarette drag.
If you’ve come to meet the woman
she is cloud now, a sprout of white melting
into the blues, the infinites--body forgotten
in the wastes of heaven.
Sleep
Written by
Sleep  33/M
(33/M)   
154
     Fawn
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