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We wake in the middle
of the night      legs askew
one orange wobbling on the floor.

I'm afraid & I say it
into your shoulders      started
like shadows of shoulders.

You say numbers of things
are true: the purpling face on the table,
your face like a fuse. You take my hands

into two kinds of darkness. Black streets,
the cities of things, flowers snapping
like glass in the garden.

I am here & we lie blinking
on the bed.
We look like moths.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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