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Greyson Sweetbrook 12

Updated on May 5, 2016

words for no words

the first sound was the sight

of you radiating in the door


framed of a dream, lit

by a hunger as deep as any fear,


the steady percussion of your

hammering tenderness, ratchet-like


in its moving forward on the feet

of an angel with eyes as black


as the sun reflected in the moon

on the first night before the first morning,


of the last blinding darkness of

living without you



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