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Jul 2019
White roses hook sleeves
in a hot rain park
as we hurry to leave
a new fringing dark
of clouded eaves.
I drink mezcal, you sip
soft wine, we kiss
at the bar as storms slip
through streeted air
with a springing hiss.
Lightning lashes bare
angles of pink night.
We lean close, share
Sunday's appetite.
Evan Stephens
Written by
Evan Stephens  44/M/DC
(44/M/DC)   
240
   lX0st
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