July 8, 2010
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Harbor me inside protective arms,
Where I felt lace sleeves slip something around my shivering self.
Pronounce me home.
A sweet, settling, heavy bruise against words.
Slice out pages from my book of memories:
Leave only those that catch fire
On the egdes
By themselves.
It has yet to consume itself -
Only burns slowly,
Purposley avoiding those with tears.

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