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By Dorothy Lune

I try to hold you in my arms again. Every seat is starting to feel like slabs. I try to kiss my own teeth again. 

Every bed starts to envelop me if I sleep too long. I try to make a soda float to drown in. Every time I bathe an apparition falls like snow into my arms. I try to convince myself


that the moon drips magenta honey & it's running down my arms to save me. Every time I wipe my tears I form into glass. I tried to ice the boils on my hands when I first felt you. 

Every time I see the red & white baby quilt I tie it around my neck like a scarf. I try to wear a pacifier again.

Dorothy Lune is a Yorta Yorta poet, born in Australia. Her poems have won the Furphy literary prize twice, her work has appeared in Overland journal, Litro magazine, Many Nice Donkeys & more. She is looking to publish her manuscripts, can be found online @dorothylune, & has a substack:

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