You slept with stars inside your chest,
Your skin a product of the moon’s radiant face.
You had flowers spilling out the corners of your stifling mouth, which cut
my tongue every time we kissed.
I will never forget the first time I sketched your hands,
their emptiness
filling
the entire room.
I told you to hold inside them everything you felt;
 
I cried when I drew myself.

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Cory Garcia
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