*for sagal*
i marvel
at how well midnight cirrus
serves to help me never to forget
how your curls greeted my face
when our hearts traded space,
your hands must still
be sweet gingersnaps that clutch
as a sparrow would lap at fresh water
shy but steady
their imprint still colors mine...
i'm certain that the corners
where your smile rises and sets
contain calls to prayer
alongside lilac scented melodies
your voice hides in those silken brown pockets,
dusk and cinnamon
is how nighttime and my mind paint you.
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