The last of the sheet I shuffle off an ankle –
a sound like the spilling of sand
from shovel and the night air blurs
for a second with its footfall.
Our entwined shape a word in the dark.
On my forehead and cheek
The last of the sheet I shuffle off an ankle –
a sound like the spilling of sand
from shovel and the night air blurs
for a second with its footfall.
Our entwined shape a word in the dark.
On my forehead and cheek
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