Today you
grasped
the stars as
they were
slipping off
the edge of
my horizon
and shook
them back
into the
sky.
You are
quicksilver
can leave me
slow-footed
wordless.
My skin is
alive
with the
soft imprint
of your
mouth.
How many
miracles
can there
be?
As I burnt
your letters
the pages
spread and curled
bloomed
like fire roses.
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