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Jan 2020
An old drunkard once said that
Cats **** each other;

I think it was at 3 AM they did so.

I lift my head up to the dimly lit morning sky
And smile as the wind touches my face.

For love is like a cat: it too loves to die in the night.
French, they call it la petite mort;

I like the sound of it.
Originally published on medium in Poetry Unlimited https://link.medium.com/KROBogjPe3
Written by
Vadim Slivinski  25/Cisgender Male/Moscow, Russia
(25/Cisgender Male/Moscow, Russia)   
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