by E.K. Smith
She squints at me
Pillow-faced
And releases towards the vivid lull
A comma lines her Brown Sugar Fingers
Blistering with anomaly and exception
under my grasp,
It has not been an amaretto-and-strawberry life
as we'd both hoped
My anxious reflection through her grace
Repeats that back to me
Bleeding out thickened thunderstorms
And warding them off,
A final gift.
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