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i wore
the shirt you left
or did i take it?
borrowed, only borrowed
a relic
a symbol
a souvenir
you know i hate this part
the waking from you
the stumbling
the retreating darkness
the crust of mascara around morning eyes
what sweet relief to slip back into your bed
under your arm
to feel the crushing weight of your strength
to have cold toes
warmed by the furnace of your body
you stir only to squeeze tighter
to run a calloused hand across my stomach
what sweet relief
to realize it is not yet Monday
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