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To Dallas Spires's previous piece
September to January Iíve seen you, all bone and hard angles, black eyes and thin lips, hair all the colors of autumn; Sunken cheeks staring at me past all the old faces, the aged molds, past barren trees, over dead grass, from the shadow space where music is made. You blew a kiss, and it was cold for days, breath like cigarette smoke and fallen leaves, blue jeans and long sleeves; Iíve never held you, but I know your arms, sharp and strong, holding me long winter nights.
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