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2011-08-21 - 9:09 p.m.

I would write you a poem,
one that you would read on a cold night
curled up in that oversized comforter
one you would fine thumbing through
a magazine given to you carelessly
by a friend.
I would write you this poem
and in it I would speak of something
little, of a sea gull or cold plums or
the rain and in the words you would see me
though we haven't met
and then you would forget it.
The next morning, stretching,
showering, a line would come through your
head, how the leaves felt beneath our feet
or the way the ocean carries secrets
or how the fingers on ivory are your eulogy
and you would see me, again
though we haven't met
and would know that those words were written
for you.
I would write you a poem and
through this distance I would find you
and you would find me
until, as the days go on
the nights in your comforter
oversized so you could cocoon deep into
end we would draw together, closer
slowly, until you could ask me
and I would say
I would write you a poem

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