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Paper white, paper thin
Skin, a pale tarp stretched across
Tent poles. I'm afraid
It will rip right open.
And what would come out
if it did? Blood? Dust? No.
Just dusty photographs and rotting wood antiques.

At seven, thats all she is.
It will take me eight years
To learn that there is still light
Two sparkling little campfires set
Deep in two hollowed out little
Cave eyes. It's small
but I love it just
the same.