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59.  State of Disrepair

Seems unlikely what you're telling me,
Mouth such icy ghost grey,
Remember the bitten plum of your lips,
Honey scented candle glow of September,
The grapefruit, burnt pine and clove
Of your fingers on my tongue,
Just close my eyes,
Replay the sound of your voice breaking,
Meet you backwards in time,
When the crack above your bed
Was the crack above mine.

poetry & photos © 2006 Rebecca Lu Kiernan

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