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August 24, 2013

In the grey light
of the flood light
he slept like Tutankhamun King,
with hands crossed over his throat.
She slept with face upturned,
like a puppy who rested her head on the edge of the bed
and fell asleep.
I sat,
cold, no blanket,
and watched the grey light on the gravel.

Her shoulders rose and fell with gentle breath,
and soft sounds slipped from her nostrils.
I will forever treasure our
last and first hurrah.

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