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that’s the thing about poets

by Stephanie Alfaia

His mouth wreathed in parenthesis
revives latent memories of Christmas morning
My palms bottle his scent and label it ‘Rapture’
The softened heart betrays choosing to skip
and he breathes his name into my dormant lips
Every touch is worshipped and immortalized
Every missing tuff of hair on his chest
becomes a well placed word
Simple gestures become signals and
lessons confused for soulmates

that’s the thing about poets.

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