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Literature Text
I cannot remember
what she wore that night,
or the smell of the moon
at her wrist,
or the blur of her cheek
grazing the pillow.
I cannot recall details
of her voice -
what was said
or promised
once the heat of July
nested in the curve
of my tongue
and pressed back
her hesitation.
But I remember the shock -
the last tremor
of bricks and skin
carving an arc
into our breathing,
shaking the walls of her room
and the sound of the world
coming undone.
what she wore that night,
or the smell of the moon
at her wrist,
or the blur of her cheek
grazing the pillow.
I cannot recall details
of her voice -
what was said
or promised
once the heat of July
nested in the curve
of my tongue
and pressed back
her hesitation.
But I remember the shock -
the last tremor
of bricks and skin
carving an arc
into our breathing,
shaking the walls of her room
and the sound of the world
coming undone.
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Comments134
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I am not usually fond of blank verses, but this makes an exception! It is great!