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You are the morning light
softly creased from sleep
at the end of the tunnel
where I used to make my way
night after night, while
fending off nameless demons
and insomnia. Now my soul
gets only good dreams,
blooming like summer rain
in the heat of sweet promises
and the sounds of the city,
pulsing like the glow of the moon
as it courses through traffic,
small hours of the night
falling in line at the 7 Eleven
for off-the-shelf necessities
while I listen for silence
between the words of the ballad
their radio is playing
that is stuck in my head
just because it talks about
how deep love could be
and the melody of the song
reminds me of the look on your face
right after you kiss me good night.
.

cuddle
.
untitled photo from the image bookmarking site, VisualizeUs

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