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it was hero time
your limbs stretched over the cotton lava
like little larvae
smiling,
blind.
it was curtain closed
to any electric light,
whispers up your spine
before the first hour
of a dry february night;
it was when shoes could be slipped off
under candlelight.
i hide
from the image
of my slender flame
burning the edges of the frame
into charred, brown
armistace,
back then i hid from your name.
imagine ivy on a red brick wall
turning when you came.
two figures,
glass plated,
four bits of wood.
a pile of dvds on the floor
next to a half drunk glass
of orange juice.