some shine
as lips
kissed by wine

or water
catching fire
at coming night

each memory
has a different scent

one smells
of morning sheets
soft hair
and thighs
while from the shadows
that the patient trees
comes music
on a thyme-filled breeze

are tanged
with acrid smoke
in their smoulder
seared flesh
and charcoaled hair

the dust of bones
falls ever as
a thirsting rain

clouded vulture dark
and howls
with wailings
of the greedy winds
and death

is sleeping
in the other bed

each memory
is stolen

each in its way
a kiss

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