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I.
Sometimes I adopt the coziness of cafes and lean...
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The grasses freshly cut in lines
of intention. Leaning forward...
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When you write
I feel my muscles detach from my spine...
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His touch electrocutes the air
circling me, his hands are vultures...
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He tucked her explanations
under the arm...
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You like to strip yourself
with the light behind you, your...
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Crouch down low
constantly rocking...
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We are standing stiff on the first floor
like freshly jarred pickles...
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We were dancing, then
a bomb blew our lives apart...
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Dark sky,
Night falls...
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I am in the fragile reflection looking back at...
as you run your slightly pressed fingers...
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I wasn't born to be a raven messenger,
land upon your shoulder, tossing dirty...