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Poem: February Third


It is not your kisses
I miss the most.

It is simply
Those moments
that slip past
unmarked
unremarkable
mundane minutiae
of you and I
eating dinner
doing dishes
drinking tea…

I long for the
extra ordinary
times intermingled
with you laughing.

I reminisce
for the bliss
of the spaces
in between the
tangled sheets:
not the rising
not the falling
not the glory…

I simply miss
simply you
simply me
converging
conversing
simply content.

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