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You Are.
2:15 pm / Tuesday, Aug. 26, 2008

you brought me a red rose.
I hate roses, but the smell of it is
perfuming my room and--
I'm becoming accustomed to it's scent.

You slept with me in my bed.
I love how comfortable it is but,
I can't seem to sleep there anymore.
Keep remembering the way you touched
even the ugliest parts of me
and I don't want to close my eyes.

After you left, I could still taste you
on my upperlip
The smell of my anticipation residing
into the ease of talking to you,
the ease of kissing you,
holding you.

You met my friends and
they keep teasing me about you--
they liked you, liked that I like you.
But I wish they wouldn't say your name so much.
I can't think straight as it is, without your name on all my girlfriends' lips.

My chin is chapped from your scruffy face.
It hurts in the most familliar way.


I hope I am enough for you.
You are almost too much to stand,
You are.

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