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how simple, the two of us standing there
one at each sink, passing the dishes between

the silence in the house tucked around
like snowfall discovered at night
so soft I can hear the needle scratch
on the record player

how simple, to softly kiss the smile of your lips
and the pulse of your neck before bed

and later, we will cut your hair out back
in the blue-yellow afternoon
and the birds will come
to make nests of these scattered pieces

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