Boston is the hand inside the chest massaging the heart so it will beat. Seeds were planted there in the spring. Wishes while I dreamed in the hotel bed of my arms around this tall boy hard enough that it was bound to come true. And still I could close my eyes and blow out the candles in a breath that would extinguish every flame. And wake up to only a memory of a dream.
Now when the beating stops, a scalpal moves through my flesh quickly a gloved hand reaches in to find the lifeless organ you're tall with a brown soft sweater letting me dance with you and it's springtime in Boston.
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