Sweet Things

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Come in baby blue, barefoot. 

Leave your shadow on the threshold, 

grip the edges of a sweet brass 

sun. It’s all your light. 

Sometimes, I forget about joy, even 

when it’s thrumming in my toes. 

Then it takes me to dance, and I laugh 

take it slow. Honey’s more golden than fire, 

and I’m not trying to hold on to anything. 

There’s the beauty, beauty,

pouring over my shoulders. 

I just like to watch.

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