In the dusty lights we
enjamb our way through
opening lines, coax our
way through commas, clumsily
obey semi-colons stops to
wet our parched tongues; your
eyes peer parentheses at me,
and we place the period at
the end of this sweaty
love poem, erasing
the dangling dash that
kept us pausing for
breaths--
Arriving at the final line, we
utter the printed words of
romance, then live between
the lines.
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