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  • ... of love. Remembered. Wished for. Lost. Not yet encountered.


    Our first drink at the corner pub.
    I sit on my hands
    To keep them from stroking your cheeks.

    After two nights of febrile wakefulness,
    Wrapped in the smell of the other:
    Are you sure you meant to say that?

    Chopping up the onions
    I can still pretend the tears
    Have nothing to do with anything.

    Two weeks of sun in the mountains
    But mud is on the forest floor
    And not a glimpse of daffodils.
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