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LAce Posted Monday, July 29th, 2013
Kiss Curls
Gemma Louisa Morrison

Isnít that what you call them?
My fascinated hands explore
the waves of your hair.
Kiss curls,
already turning grey.

You and I watched the travelers
Like angels
Set above the earth
nursing expensive bottles of Italian beer.

And we laughed at them
At their drunkenness
their follies
their misplaced sense of direction

When we were the two most lost travelers

Sometimes at nights,
my fingers recall your kiss curls
the muscle memory returns
to the place that was left

When we stood at the bus stop
with you pining after some 24 year old girl
and me longing for you.

Your kiss curls looked flat then,
under the weight of it all.

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