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I hold your mid-arm,
embarrassed by my moist heat,
a seeing eye dog,
for you
tumbling over twigs
with your head in

the clouds.

i won’t let you fall.
i won’t tell you to buckle.

what good are mirrors to
those who cannot see?

then, you pull your arm in
and cover my hand with yours,
and i see your smile
through the mist.

and, i realize it is you leading me.