the white of a waterfall
the moon hiding half its face

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heart a grate
full with ash
carried out
to the garden
on a warm
windy night

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the horizon howled
snow swept the streets

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words brighter
than the paper
they scar

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worn away with waking

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took shelter
in the shadows
beyond the lamps

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I won’t speak to you again
I will still sing to you
songs white as whispers
same frequency as ghosts

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use the scarred skin
of your heart
to scratch a match
awake
then light a candle
in the cave
reveal the stalagmite
and stalactite stretching
dripping
towards each other

eventually
the tips of their tongues
will touch
spark at the heart
of the dark
they share


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close the gate gentle
make it chime
close it like a delicate thing
as if just leaving
looking in
upon a sleeping child
isn’t that how hearts
should be handled
footsteps made faint
by grass
no knock required
no doorbell
rattling the rooms
just the soft cry
of a rusted hinge


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bells hold onto
all the peals struck
from the dark
of their bodies
a forever home for shadows
hung in the wind
that whips whispers
from their stillness

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a candle burned
flame sunk
into the column
of its body
tears viscous
with lives lost
cum cloudy
with ghosts
of lives
never lived

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scars like lips sewn shut
kiss without tongue

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just before the kiss
push me back into the world
like ghosts do
when the living get too close
the scent of skin
too much

they push away
because they long too much
for what they’ve lost
they want you too stay
in the world

you because
you don’t want to hold
what will be lost

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share the snowfall
from a streetlight with you
shoulders dusted with shine

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