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Sometimes When the moon is up I think of you, More Than when it isn't. Out of a sense of fear More so Than anything else. A security blanket. Under that blanket We'll hide. You'll reach far down  near me and Touch glazed candies and Pull away shy, because you don't understand why you did. We'll bury ourselves deeper into the Fabric squares our families made us into. We'll make ourselves comfortable to the texture and the sounds they make When it chafes our skin and nails. The doors will open, hallway lights will prey on the dark and We'll snicker rubbing our toes together.
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Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
Quilted
Sometimes When the moon is up I think of you, More Than when it isn't. Out of a sense of fear More so Than anything else. A security blanket. Under that blanket We'll hide. You'll reach far down  near me and Touch glazed candies and Pull away shy, because you don't understand why you did. We'll bury ourselves deeper into the Fabric squares our families made us into. We'll make ourselves comfortable to the texture and the sounds they make When it chafes our skin and nails. The doors will open, hallway lights will prey on the dark and We'll snicker rubbing our toes together.
Title, Body, Quilted, Revisited, Old, New, Hot, Cold, Sweet, Bitter, Love Poem,
maggie-bartolome
Written by
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
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