I am falling asleep to the sound of you
pictures of your face bathed in sepia, folded at the edges
running slides on a projection reel as I close my eyes
and when I wake in sheets that smell like you
all that is left is a love note on the bedside table
this is my writing song
sung for you when my mouth runs dry
and I am nothing but moving fingers
know that I will keep every letter you leave for me
know that I have made a book of them already
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