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May 2017
i am still floating
in the fever radiating out from my cheeks on the train
the night after my heart handed a hint to you unintentionally, uncontrollably, even, speaking in and through the silence of the
spaces between us, dodging normal reservations of restraint and
retreat; cyclamen petals for cheeks serving as the sole indication,
the only hope that i have that none of it happened to fall on deaf ears.
original intended title: my cheeks on the train
likely the last of these
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