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the cool dampness of the night; unstirred, holds her breath; the breath which moves through me and connects me to all that is you. the moon draws her breath, each moment of her night, she is lucky; the gaze beckons softly but surely and yet unclear certainties disturb the mind. makes me want to run to a corner and cozy up to something warmer and beyond words, maybe getting into a matchbox with a name like Vittoria Grande or finding my fingers warmly ensconed in your lightly held grasp. i am the queen of wishful thinking after all.
