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At times, you're
a vacant pillow
limp in my embrace
and yet, in the same
moment;
you slip into my
bedroom window,
cup my rhythm-less
heart
then wrest, from me,
another beat.
I blush a tender
colour, tousle
memories between
my empty fingers
and with a kiss,
bid December
sweet dreams:
an aftertaste
of liqueur hanging
on my every word.