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Poetry

first night

i’d like to use your rib cage as a pillow
spilling on you through my heart side
we can listen to sad songs and glow pink in the night:
our skin’s reflected the pink and it’s spilled onto my bed, too
and the morning after:
lighter; this is what it feels like to float on water or air
three and a half hours of sleep and i have not stopped dreaming
coffee is a part of me as blood and water
above chaos and under rose petals

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by abluemoth

A poet dwelling in Oregon, taking film photos of friends and making coffee. An admirer of anything that provokes hope.

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