As if the flowers bloomed all night. As if you were walking here in this wood. As if your hand touched me free and you cleaned the mess from our child's face only to wipe again. It's year's now, but when I danced the other night my feet could not move. My mouth could not smile at her and how I tried, yes, how I tried to make it lift again. Deft disease. Slow release. I could have watched you there hairless and weak and wanting to dance with me again. I could have watched that image eternally. And how I do, how I do.
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