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maybe the clearing of throats, first steps bones stretched & joints shuffle
thoughts gathered around what was just dreamed it felt like a few days it was
just a few moments seeming to be a series of beautiful things strewn across the floor excitement, highs & lows all in one
a storyboard litters the floor you review the scenes & wonder where their hands were, or the shape of her mouth when this memory was taken you should've put that moment in your backpocket saved it to savor later
brushing away the dust that's built up on the first few shots you develop a timeline cross referencing outfits you loved that she wore those jeans that always fit right how many times she made that smile you loved, that particular one your not watching, your re-living the living it was there it happened, you can feel it in your skin the touch, taste, growth of love
reaching under the bed to dust off the old tape-player pressing play you hear a murmur & then a loud cackle seemed like the room was full but it was just you two the simplest things made joy your reminded by the tones the tunes trapped in plastic & metals
maybe an exchange of precious stones, wouldn't rust wilt as flowers do plastic flowers don't spray them with her perfume dress them up in a simple vase mist them to make them real but that's been done remember the others that weren't quite as pretty as fresh daffodil's in winter the smell that would pass under you the look you'd gaze off into, in the midst of a conversation, thought this couldn't be winter not now
It was a fire-place, a place to sit with something familiar talk about the past, that's new, push & pull with someone willing to want to
seasons weren't reasons faces, touched fore-arms open, honest eyes that could dance a tear into a rain-drop & back again
sitting restless wanting to want the want to disappear & come back again, anew shifting, positioned in titles given & assumed
losing sight of the memories cluttered on the floor the photos & recordings of moments past, not so far gone reminded in quiet train rides alone distanced hearts grow fodder
I want the spring of you sweet like a drip from heaven to a mountaintop trickling down to a lakes mouth
I want the re-birth to be mystic so many have tried to decipher the trail left behind the photos slashed, cut, maybe burtn around the edges may we create more mysteries for us to discover become the never ending adventure not found in the seeking, that were sought there under...
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