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Dirty Laundry

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I'll shake out the
night, our dirty
laundry flapping
in the cold.
Hanging on the line,
it catches the dew
and glitters.

There is a glint
of dawn on the
sheets, a shadow
of blush at the edges,
and I smooth them
until the wrinkles
return to their youth.

There is a breath of
fresh air seeping
from the seams,
I can feel your
hot breath
in the wind
down my spine.

The clothespins slip
on the line and
teeter like long
bone fingers,
the tree leaves
shadow the sheets
in the breeze as
away from there
our bodies drift.



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