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National Poetry Month's 3rd Place Winner, 2024
A full moon looms over the horizon.
The pull heady trapped in your orbit.
The buzz of a glancing touch
like the gentle rush of water over smoothed
pebbles prickle your skin.
You wait, caught in the cycle
anticipation, it's own aphrodisiac,
engorged today, wains tomorrow.
It lingers like smoke in your hair
after the fire is doused.
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