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How To Breathe

I am a miniature sailboat made of foil and paper
Closed up in a glass bottle, lost in a soundless dream
The world is dropping like an anchor, a lump of sugar,
Dissolving from my sights until there’s nothing left
But your hands like seaweed tickle the surface of my skin
And the fireworks of water and the night begins to flood in
Your alkaline kisses teach me how to breathe again.
When the bottle rattles and the cork loosens,
I find the hollow spaces that I have been longing
Infinite and hazy veils lurk close above the sea
To cloud the murmur of our growing song
But your arms like waves carry me away
And the bodies that stir with no sound become alive
Your voice teaches me how to breathe again.





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