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Semaphores
May 16, 2013
There's a shadow in that groove where you lie
near a body of smoke where you stand;
your heat blows into my bedroom in the cold
and I'm held by what is not there;
There's a voice in my bathroom where you bathe
under buckets of tears where you sing;
qualms scratch, gnaw at the cement,
the surroundings whisper your name.
© Natalie D., Ames, IA
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