and for the waitress you’ve kissed
when alone at a bar is the short-term name of the game & this table’s too big for the ink ive left in my pen are you familiar w/ this fortunate following & foreshadowing glances like a formidable fantasy i rip stories from romance novels & bury myself under the porch lying amongst pets & patterned plant life spelling out postcards after past lives & lost continents they speak a language here ive forgotten but we lean into each other like the moon and its craters …
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