"there's gravity in your sentences, calamity in my home" he says with a sigh, swimming at night. "my hand is under my pillow, clutching a memory of your breath" she says with a sigh, the colder side. he cant sleep without writing her name on his eyelids. she cant wake up without tasting his name in her coffee. its hardly healthy. "im me, its a pleasure to meet you, who are your friends? why don't they speak?" he said with his eyes, sharing his light. "-----" she said with her eyes into his colder side. he cant sleep without wondering why he started smoking. she cant wake up without wondering where all those friends went. and what gave europe the chance to try kissing north africa? nothing makes sense. nothing but something they miss. "its with no pleasure im off to leave again, so keep me where you can see" he says with no time, and more on his mind. "ill keep you where i grow poetry, the garden where all of my angles struggle to sleep" its a secret she keeps. and he will sleep on floors in ohio and tennessee. she will wake up with her mind on the walk down to market street. he will meet enough people to swallow a century. but she will be the south and the west and the north-east of his colder side.
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