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Pattern
June 29, 2022
Fire sat low in my belly
a simmering boil as I exhaled
my mind weaving together
a pattern
my hands flew at their own accord.
I hung my head,
in shame—
or excitement
as I traced the
pattern
with my fingers
my eyes skittish.
The flame was snuffed
then
and I was left bereft
and cold
and the patterns
became meaningless.
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