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She
Waited

for you, arms open, mine closed.

She
Laughed

at you the way I do, fingers on your skin, kissing your tattoos.

She
Hung

on your words, your limbs, your love, past the end of you, when you magically mysteriously fell, night chased to the edge, no hope in hell, out.

She
Was

just a cheap imitation of me, place-holding your love where I used to play games in proximity, where I’ll be.

She
Left

when you moved her dresser drawers to build your desk, deconstructed her spot, her place, her niche, closed the corner in her heart where you deftly hid.

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