Under the willow,
she breathes on my chest
while the fog of early morning
hangs thick in the sky.
Strands of hair
separate and become wild.
(Her lashes tickle my neck.)
Under the willow,
her hand’s on my chest,
eyes only inches from mine.
Rain drips, like tears,
loathing this departure.
(Her hair, a textured heart,
runs through my fingers.)
Under the willow,
she whispers into my ear,
tightening her grip around my waist-
tightening- not letting go-
(Holding me close.
Remembering, always
her voice inside my head.)
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