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Posted: Tue Feb 21st, 2012 07:16 pm |
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timmy
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pear juice on the tip of your index finger that last sip of chilled zinfandel; this I understand more than what you said to me a bowl of moonlight by the rear door; by morning, it is iced over the times we hold each other closer because of lightning the bald spot on the back of the man near Columbus Circle after he asked for spare change a white-washed fence and the young girl cycling, zig-zagging through fallen leaves and crab apples salt spread on driveway ice; at midnight, all the silent houses Last edited on Tue Feb 21st, 2012 07:17 pm by timmy |
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