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Ashley Mucha Jan 2013
it was onthefloor, my heart,
and i would say your worn-out treads
stomped it backtolife

pressure and rhythm and tongues
thatgettied and i whirled around
like a bag - the wind (thatisyou)
filling and carrying me

i will forget the way we
met and made eachother and begin to
undo this mess [trapped] in myownhead

i will pushANDpushANDpush you
until you disappear into a dream
or a memory or this thing ithinkididonce
but now i'm not sure

(pause) - there you are!
whenever i don't want you
so i closemyeyes (squeezethemshut)
and i ask you to go. now. please. . .

you're a blur. a mist. a thingofthepast
and i won't remember you or the way
your fingers felt when they tangletangletangled
in my hair and wrapped around my heart

i will you away. (goaway!) but i miss
the smell of your aftershave and the way
you said 'three' and the tinyjaggedscar
halfhidden by your eyebrow

and i know i can't forget
not today not tomorrow
(but maybe after that)

— The End —