Broken shells
on a shelf, a
feather and
some books,
some read.
Years of
collecting us
and now, soft
and glowing,
bells in the rain.
What a time
to know you,
all along and ever,
were feeling
through -
a slender
hand, pale
and strong,
stroking -
Shoulders back,
chest out.
I wrote this early August, 2013.
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