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Love Letter #71: The Vine

You and I are seamless souls,
but, he is in the midst
of our spirits, our breaths;

the vine that holds these branches.

Let these fruits ripen-
not far from the tree;

winds carry sweetness;
sprinkle stars he strewn,
strategically,

like the union of us.

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Spice of Life

Sometimes, you have to escape
to a soft place where words are warm
like the scent of Grandma’s apple pie.

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When Empty is Full

I sat
collecting broken pieces
of you.

He rose,
He twirled

until the past spilled out.

~

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Tea Party

Place settings for four,
Mom brought violets
for the centerpiece;
dolls in their Sunday best,
me, in pigtails
and my favorite dress.

His voice always did startle me.

Grandma brought glue
for the handle.

If only my heart was porcelain.

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High Note

I woke up that morning
with a tickle in my throat
for something-
(anything but fancy,)

and I had you in my sights.

When my tone of voice
captured your attention,
syllables flowed like a river,
continuously
and all downhill.

Like a soprano,
I hit a high note

when you finally let me speak.

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Shout (From the Mountain Top)

Should I take
the heart of me,

lay the broken pieces out;

show you
how he put them together
with just a touch

of grace.

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Brain Freeze

My mind is void of you,

with exception
to the occasional echo;
a faint innuendo

precipitating
a temporary pause

in my step.

~