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Sherman

K Sherman

A finger, curled.

A bowl.
A couch.

An ankle, exposed.

All that.

Tomorrow he wakes.
Blue sky out the window.
Snow on the cars.
Her song still plays
but quietly.

They walked under trees, deep,
in her memory.
Yellow light.
Warm breath.
Braids unraveling.

Quiet things we think, alone.
Yet still, together so breathless.

return to SHAMPOO issue #1