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the moon slips
through the blinds
to illuminate
her milk-white skin
in silvery light,
then
scratch and hiss,
the match
flares to life
in her small
cupped hands,
a stray spark
shooting past
the twisted sheets
to burn
a pinhole
in the pillow,
the fire flickers
in her eyes
as her shadow
dances on the wall,
the smoldering
tip of her smoke
glowing hot
and bright
as she waves
away the flame
and inhales
deeply before
passing it
to me

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