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Two Girls

Our love was an iron bell
unnerved by the train’s brazen calls
meat and bones meat and bones.

We spoke like scissor blades
confetti clicking the fan.

I would have stolen two horses
for us to ride up to that ridge

Where we might sing
and pick their hooves clean.

We were tin moths
moving over brick towards the light
meat and bones meat and bones.

Posted 02/22/11
Published in Phoebe, Fall 2007 as a finalist for the Greg Grummer Poetry Contest judged by Carl Phillips
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