Paper Dolls

It was so bright the day that you were dying.
Your hair smelled like oxygen, not peaches anymore,
nor Oleander tea,
nor apple spice.
You’d lost your scent.
My music was air;
the house smelled like air;
our freezer was air; you and I were air,
clear and white as paper. We smelled like
the seventy sheets of college rule
when you puncture the plastic wrapping.

(Source Image)

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