Last Night

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Last
night we
spoke
of

us.

We let
our
hair
down,
and
fell in between
the
layers

of
where
we
belong,
and the
process
of putting
color
to
action.

We
spoke to
the
love
that
shifts and
shimmies
to
our
beating heart,

and

we
also
spoke of
how
time would
stand
still,
and wait for
our
next
stanza
to
form.

Last
night
I heard your
voice
and
remembered
that
mountains
will
move
two degrees
south
if
they
only
knew
how lucky
I
am.

M.C. Davis