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Reaching out to grasp
To clutch, to hold
To own, possess
Her, Or is it
A butterfly, Or is it
A moth, Or
Is it She?
Then I wake up.

A walk
In the park, alone
With one who is unknown,
Or is it a friend,
A foe, a ghost, or
Is it her,
Where is this?
Then I wake up.

A home,
A jug of wine, and
A loaf of bread, and
A prison, bars
No room to breathe
To walk, to sleep,
To love
Then I wake up.

Her smell,
Her hair,
Her breath on my neck,
Palpable yet
Out of reach,
Substance is air,
Air is substance, slipping
From my grasp,
I fall, and
Then I wake up.

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