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Bone blossoms,
a ghost of iris-
blue so pale,
it slips off the page
and sheets.
You know the scent;
you borrowed it
from some girl
who was your best friend.
You slept together in the same bed;
she borrowed your sweater
and bracelet,
and kissed you
when mother was not looking.
You fed her books
and strawberries
left out in the sun,
ripe as the boy
next door.
She put her hand
in yours
one warm night
in August
and asked you
what it made you think of.

Just blossoms
you said -
teal and purple,
feathered like summer -
like the summer
when you were five
and the heat
just could not keep away

and the sky went out.
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Submitted on
January 17, 2013
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