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Grey-White

You would stroke my cheek.

Your palms facing away

from the chemical blush.


We would be warped in bedsheets;

tangled together like

pieces of careless string.

We would forget noon,

wake to twilight,

eat dinner for breakfast

leave the crumbs on the counter

by the flowers in the bottle.


You would fall asleep.

I would slip away

pull your arm off my waist,

gently place it on

the place I lay.


Then I would wrap myself

in my mother's camel-hair coat

surreptitiously stolen

from neglected closets.


Naked on the balcony,

legs drawn up close and tight,

toes cold curled on the metal.

Smoke spilling from my lips

numb fingers tracing

steps of the dancing steam

before it disappeared

in the seeping dawn.


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