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Poem Number 22557
Tilde, Tilde, Tilde
She told me to breathe deeply,
to breathe just like her,
like a whisper
inching its way through the fog of the night,
and echoing off the moon's eerie bright.
I exhaled her scent with such relief,
but it was silenced when her stethoscope invaded my chest.
The cold hit hard, like a razor
going the wrong way.
She quickly reversed the spell by resting
her right hand on my shoulder blade.
This is why I play the waiting game.
It's for the prize the trickles out like morning dew,
something daylight couldn't even shiver through.
The feeling of being complete.
But the vary hand that was so comforting,
was not for me.
the only recent romantic endeavors
I find to be momentous,
are with my doctor's new apprentice.
(chuckle) the ending got me!!! love the descriptions though ... Drm
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