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Eleven Flowers

this bouquet bears but
eleven flowers
three weeks late

i smile
to myself,
he doesn’t see

he runs ahead as i try
arduously
to catch up

there’s an S shaped
curvature
against my chest-

it is uncomfortable
but i embrace it tightly
anyway

he snores,
slightly
it keeps me awake

i run my knuckles over his
u n s h a v e n
cheek as he sleeps

our hands are clasped
in a way they are only
at night

the blood pulsating between
our fingers
is comically romantic

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