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Oct 2016
Sweat cools
on the tops of our shoulders.
The sun dropsΒ Β 
and the beat follows.
A moment of blackness first,
followed by
a rock candy colored infinity.
It dances, without apology
and blankets me in light.
In the spaces between
spilled beer and green smoke,
time is a foreign language
that no one cares to learn.
Β© Bitsy Sanders, October 2016
b for short
Written by
b for short  Braavos
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