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the house fires here fight their own flares against condensed liquids shimmering in the air clinging as they fall to grimy beginnings taking hold of eyelashes, moustaches, any collection of little hairs who lie waiting for invasion during blurry long exposures captives held quick, hovering close to concrete sand boxes collecting ash like dust their contours blister when exposed to light and sucking with fish lips i exhale milk in wisps and remember your fingernails how they sparkle like march snow i will hold them again and bask in the warm glow that is your flesh