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  • I am lashed to a gypsy boy
    by one colossal sky.

    when this universe becomes a cage
    I remember that his eyes are
    black holes, magnetic dripping wounds,

    and through them
    we could probably tunnel our way ascendant.

    I will miss you, gypsy brother,

    on the sometime day when
    your pain is no longer a false alarm.

    if nothing else,
    remember the morning
    when the sun filled our eyelids
    and, for a moment,
    opened those sleek black
    holes to light.

    If nothing else,
    remember the morning.
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