For Gracie, long since crossed the blue-white horizon
There was a view of Toledo
which hung over your bed when we,
on the first night- once we burrowed
into that sweet lazy content,
white cloud drift only allowed on
nights of first kisses, legs tangled
beneath blankets like gunpowder,
arms curled soft at the tender crux
of a neck, each settled like stones-
on the first night we lay and looked
finding the angles of Toledo
as new as us, its horizon
as limitless, as beckoning.
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