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Quiet like this, my lips on yours,
I breathe you. It’s either a living dream or we’re alive.
The life we can sense is in the kiss
that lives on, alone. Without us, it shines.
We are its shadow. Because it is our bodies when we’re gone.
Vicente Aleixandre, from “Posthumous Kiss”  in Poems of Consummation (Black Widow Press, 2013)

(Source: apoetreflects)

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