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Apr 16
Little white sheep on a faded blue pillowcase
          your hair strewn across like a
sleepy blonde storm.

I’ve got the strangest feeling...

Last night I had a dream—perhaps a memory
          of you bathed in golden light,
                    pulling up fistfuls of grass
          and piling it on my bare knee.

          A voice low and purling
with the stream at our feet.
                    Silk on skin.
                              Lips on peaches.
                                        Pinky promises
                              on Sunday afternoons.

We wear socks to glide over the kitchen tiles
          humming along to an ancient song on the radio.
another old poem reworked
Written by
gracie  19/F/Washington, DC
(19/F/Washington, DC)   
     Lost in my Head, Patrick, Benzene, --- and Joey
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