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2005-12-15 - 11:53 p.m.

An ego feed from two dark tits
A women leans back
to a fountain sometimes.

The strange way of lovers
in a town lit by rivers

Come on back to a stuttered song

Arrows and clicks, monuments of
love fade into breathing rhythms

Clothes smell like the detergent
And it's a big bitch freeze

That conversation with Eddy and the turbulence water took to get across

To arrive alive and meet for coffee at eight o clock sharp, on the nose.


 

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