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Poetry
Poetry
by Ember Griffith
It is in the way you move;
The smooth shadow of your clavicle,
The curve of your wrist as you write.
It is in the look that passes between us;
The green glint of your gaze,
The curled line of your lips.
It is in the hopes we murmur;
Promises between our pillows,
Words tangled in skin and sheets.
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