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the semicolon;
Alone at home 
28th Jun 2014 04:53 pm
Your shirt soft from washing
is what I wear over
to water the plants at night.
You are away in China.
The token you left,
settled on the bedspread, speaks
of washing cycles, rhythmic
routines, torque so certain
the next moment
you will return to claim it,
me, back as yours:
No pledge stronger
than the habit
of living together, washed
to be worn again.
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