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My fingers
are branches
reaching up
towards the sky.
They twist
and tangle
under hot sunlight
on a spring day
in May,
a day
where my eyes
like leaves budding
on a naked tree.
My branches
all the way east
to rest
on your chest
where blossoms
rose in my throat
when you touched me.
We grew together,
your limbs entwined
with mine,
for a few short weeks
in spring.
I left my branches
etched on your torso,
undulating branches
adrift on your skin.


2 thoughts on “Branches

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