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onlylovepoetry Mar 2018
Friday night immodesty

theater on East 4th street @ 8:00pm,
so the girlie stuff commences on schedule
90 minuets a-priori and the medley music
(adele+amy+alicia+ pink bach for some zing)
a harbinger, a pioneer Greek heralding of
Friday night immodesty

the clothes laid out upon the bed, the shoes,
pumps selected and already on,
(always a puzzler to me,)
the subdued lower east side jewelry possibilities,
on the dresser drawer,
indifferently hoping for selection, but
casually beaming quietly,
like those kids waiting for interviews in the waiting room
of the college Admissions Dean’s office,
all with serious smiles
and tiny tearing eyes

aside:
helloooooo, I am in a poetry polo with my best jeans ready to go
2 hours before the curtain calls out,
hellooooooo

she sits at the makeup mirrored desk,
clad in only her underneath garments of varying utility,
when I sweep in imperially
and with one hand twist gentle her hair upwards,
betraying
her neck nape which is again
the sujet of a poem aborning

lips,
like a Greek lyre strings, pluck, the tiny hid hairs never seen,
her instant moans at the never fully expected motion poem,
beg more mercy but no quarter given despite repeated cries
of you’ll mess my makeup,
the best defense known to a lady!

god gave men two thumbs to lift up,
simultaneously stimulating,
slide down each of the thin black brasserie strap invitations,
upon each, a writ,
upon her flesh colored shoulders,
stating
“what was she thinking!”

my lips,
now polar explorers, those power (filled) poles side by side,
(east/west for the designer was a smart
bipolar guy-person);
the lips play silent night progressive jazz,
tinkling with higher noted keys,
nape to shoulders moving down to the back’s prefrontal lobe,
the small of her back, the body’s quivering,
a con-federate flag of surrender

her last defense swept aside, we drink honey and milk,
celebrate the week’s mellifluous finish with immodest touching,
the lower east side will belong tonite
to only the hipsters, the millennials,
as our hips are milling and  otherwise
pre-theater and post, occupado

some hours later, watching TV and eating delivered Chinese,
she laterally and literally arm punches my arm
intensely to mark her discontent,
still annoyed,
for I

1) messed up her makeup,
2) best blouse to the dry cleaner and
3) the tickets wasted, and worse,
hits me again!

after I laugh and giggle upon proffering
most modestly, most assuredly,
seconds of
onlylovepoetry

9.21am Saturday
thank you all who liked this tale of
the poetry in the details
of our lives.
olp
Mike T Minehan Apr 2013
I like a whole lip-smacking smorgasbord of words,
such as preposterous and scrumptious,
sumptuous and curious,
roiling, rambunctious and trumpeting,
priapic, satyric and seraphic,
satyriasis and mimesis. Now this mimesis is the imitative
representation of nature and behavior in art and literature,
which is a pretentious way of trying to say what us writers do.
But hey, we don't just mimic things,
we can be sagacious and salacious, too.
Accordingly, I also like *******, which has a liquid sound,
and I'm not being facetious to suggest that
******* has a close connection to callipygous.
Then, for those who are suspicious of the libidinous,
I also like curmudgeonly and bodacious,
loquacious, precocious and pulchritudinous,
lubricious and fugacious,
scripturient, radiance, iridescence and magnificence,
lissome, lithe and languid (but not too limp),
shimmering and diaphanous, effulgent and evanescent,
flamboyant, fandango and flibbertigibbet,
(although this is difficult to say when you’re drunk),
voluptuous and vertiginous, slithery, **** and glistening.
And when I include crepuscular, strumpet and strawberry,
I may as well add whipped cream
as well, because this can be laid on in dollops,
and dollops is really an excellent word
along with slurping and *******, too.
Actually, I'm very flexible about words,
because in my lexicon, low moaning noises are OK, too.
These sounds come from the chord of creation
which is a sort of reverberation from the time of
primordial ooze, which I would like to squish between my toes.
Then there's protozoa, spermatozoa and also
wriggling flagella everywhere. So there.
But words don't even need to make sense,
because sweet nothings can say everything,
and heavy breathing can be ******,
even rhapsodic, ending in delirium.
Titillating should be in here too, because we all need
some tintinnabulation and tickling of the senses sometimes.
I've also decided that fecund is my second favorite word after love.
Fecund sounds abrupt, but it buds magnificently
in ******* and bellies to burgeon in absolute abundance,
everywhere. This brings me to *******, which I like, too.
I'm also partial to proud words, including bold, bulging and
brazen, along with a bit of swaggering braggadocio.
Then I like some big words, like brobdingnagian,
although I hope I'm not sesquipedalian.
Salivate is a word to celebrate as well,
along with onomatopoeia that helps choose some words here.
Drooling is highly evocative, too,
and it's not being provocative to observe that
even weapons drool when they're in the wrong hands.
And I shouldn't leave out *******, as you would expect,
because ****** is a sort of rippling word
that rhymes with spasm. Both sound deceptively simple,
but by golly, they can be intensely gripping.
And really, it's alright to writhe to this occasion
because all of us writers should endeavor
to have some good writhing in our oeuvre.
Even some bad writhing can be lots of fun, too.
But I almost forgot to mention yearning and burning (with desire)
and vulviform, velvet and venerous.
Yippee, yee har and hollerin' along with other exclamations
of exhortatory exuberance should be in this index, too.
Now. The words I don’t like include no, can’t, never,
stop and mustn’t. Also, irascible and intractable,
unmentionable, ineffable, inexpressible, incoherent,
immutable, impotent and impossible.
Then I don't like importune and misfortune,
and I don't know who thought up unthinkable,
because this is an oxymoron.
Inscrutable is also a complete cop out,
especially when there's no such word as scrutable.
Gawping, gaping, cavernous and cretinous, obsequious,
grovelling, pursed lips, circuitous,
obfuscation and isolation, unpalatable,
cruelty, tyranny and hypocrisy,
should also get the heave-**.
And I definitely don't like parsimonious and mendicant,
which are miserable words.
Quitting doesn't get there either,
and shut the **** up and ******* should also be taboo.
Also, hopeless is, really, well, it's hopeless
because it denies hope, and hope is buoyant and boundless.
I mean, sometimes hope is all we have.
But the word I dislike most is ****,
because this is an insulting word, and
to be taxonomical,
the negative score of this word is astronomical.
Hate is also right up there on this list. Hate is abominable
because it tries to destroy love, and love is indomitable.
Indomitable
is the
mightiest
word
of them all.
Yeah. So there.

Mike T Minehan
II felt good after writing this - it was a bit like purging the personal dictionary in my head. I think all of us could write our own list...
Bashayer Jan 2016
My soul was swinging
When my phone was ringing
And your name showed up on the screen.

My hands were shaking
When it was our first greeting
The entire world turns to be green.

My heart was intensely beating
When it was our first dating
Every piece of me was keen.
What an ironic place of mind
When something I've wanted for awhile
Finally presents itself
And I'm overwhelmed so intensely
By anxiety and sadness

How long have I hoped to meet up?
How many times had I mentioned coffee?
Yet here I am
Three days before I see you
For the first time in a year and a half
And I feel so sad

It's as though
I am finally mourning the loss
Of someone who was my best friend
Finally letting myself feel about you
All of the things I've repressed

It has been a long time
We both must be so different now
What would that mean for this?
Do we meet up once
Play a game of catch up
Then resume the path of strangers?
Or do we try to be friends again
And run the risk of pain and heartache?

Does our intense shared anxiety
At just the sight of each other
Signal a similar message
A similar desire within us both?
Or am I stuck within a fantasy
Lying to myself that this could work
That you could be in my life again

We were not made to be lovers
And I don't believe in happenstance
I do think we came together for a reason
Just as we've become reconnected now
The city may be small
But this has to be more than coincidence
You were my best friend back then
And I know I hurt you deeply
But part of me hasn't stopped believing
That our lives staying connected
Is something that's meant to be

And I know that
When I'm sitting anxiously in my car
Outside the cafe where we're set to meet
Thoughts racing faster than my heart beats
I'll have to fully prepare myself
To find out that you disagree
M Salinger Dec 2018
I have these
persistent
whispers of fears
that I won't love someone
so wholly
& deeply,
that I won’t feel that
intensity
that intensely,
again

it’s a
strange fear
since
no fiber
of
my being
is the
same
as it was,
back then

my bones
don’t remember
that blood
coursing all around,
pumping me full of
toxins
that felt like the
transcendence
of a runner’s high
melting
into an ******

this
is not the
body
of someone whose
life
was so closely intertwined
with yours,
back then

all that's left
is a faint linger of sensation
a hint of a memory,
like thinking of a taste
or a smell

but what my heart can’t
remember,
my mind can't
forget

you haunt me
still
in my
dreams,
of a bond
that could have been,
that a viable transition
could have been,
that no
love
need be
lost

wakefulness
coaxes me
out
as I start to remember..
it’s not
me
who should
fear
that melancholy

because
you
my dear friend,
are the *****

of a finger, that
throbs & aches
but in
hindsight,
is never as consequential
as it
felt

that at
most,
leaves a
shadow of a
scar

on a new
layer
of fresh
skin,
soft to the
touch
and
well-worn

with quiet assurance
and kind courage

two things
I hope for
you
but fear
you’ll never
have

soft, persistent
whispers
that guide me
away from
you..
jane taylor May 2016
running
deliquescing into nature
i am engulfed in stillness

i encounter a deer as i round a corner
its chestnut eyes intensely sense
something wild within me
transfixed
we meld palpably
whispering our essence

myopic views warp into acute focus
golden flowers stretch and arch
and yawning into the sun
swell with bursts of luster
whilst violets polka dot the path
with lilac luminescence

dead tree trunks
mutating into masterpieces
yearn for new life
drawing in the squirrels

yellow-bellied birds
hover
sensing my motions
whilst woodland winds undulate
pine scented waves of sea salt oceans

my ears enchantingly enhanced
by bristling leaves caressing trees
as scintillating amber butterflies
dance in synch
with the clock tower’s
ancient chiming

a gust of wind
catches a patch of sand
and sends it quivering
fusing high in summer air
then falling soft as feathers

hidden fairies prance about
answering unheard questions
problems dissolve in emerald meadows
without a hint of striving

essays write themselves
upon my mind
poetry flows through me
wings of meadowlarks
trace my face with nuances
interlaced with connotations

rushing home
i write it down
then bowing i take credit
for what was etched upon my soul
by a sunbeam in the forest

©2016janetaylor
Begun with an inviting smile,
Followed by hand holding
and one single amazing kiss,
opening the very depths
of passions bliss.

Passions that lasted for
weeks, day and night,
intensely ethereal.
Consumed and blissfully
spent in passions never
felt before or since,

Marriage and two beautiful
children, house with picket
fence, all beget with just one
single awe-inspiring kiss.

We stand now in Court,
bitter and numb, you get
the house, while I get to
keep paying the mortgage.

As loving parents we agree
to share custody of our kids.
While each one of us struggles
to survive the crushing aftermath
of all this.

Hard to imagine now that
all these flames of love and
pain were ignited with but
a simple smile and a single
amazing kiss.
Life and Relationships
are complicated. Do we
fall in love or does love
fall on us? Some of both
it seems.
Kewayne Wadley Feb 2018
Eyes do speak.
It's funny how they perceive the things around.
The broken conversations heard by fully complexed ears.
I believed that I'd be ok.
The conclusions that eyes draw.
Never making sense of the words heard.
I believed it to be my biggest mistake.
Falling for the beautiful images seen.
Following sight, my first love.
Pain is often beautiful, layered one color after another.
The stories that unfold given enough time.
The initial cause and effect, forgetting the love immortalized before anything
was ever heard.
The intimacy that eyes will only understand/
Speak to me and I'll fully understand.
She'd never been in love.
I gazed intensely
Still I pursued
Rachel Rode Jan 2018
I am afraid of you
But not really of you
More of what you do to me
You make me feel more intensely than I have felt
For the large part of a long while
And it is a foreign feeling
But one that I welcome with open arms
I am sure that you know that men have not been gentle with me
My eyes alone could tell you the story even better than my tongue could
I have spent too long with hands clasped around my throat
Your hand gently on my waist is a welcome respite
You treat me as though I am made of glass
To be fair, there are days where I feel
Like cotton candy caught in a rainstorm
Fragile and fading
But I want you to know that lately I have been feeling okay
I feel your worried eyes when I shake in the cold or when I push away a full plate
But I am trying and most of the time the victories are mine
And oh how wonderful it is to come to two roads in a yellow wood
And not care which one I pick
Because I know that no matter what
You’re the one walking beside me
Carter Ginter Apr 2018
I imagine colored dye
Floating through my brain
Showing the inconsistent chemicals
The lack of even concentration
A dose of something unexpected
And my eyes turn round like saucers
I feel everything so intensely
I can understand the inner-workings
Of the feelings I never understood
My obsession with lost love
Finally whispered it's truth
I do not regret where I am today
I simply miss feeling the happiness
That accompanies the memories that haunt me
I must come to terms with the fact
That happiness will return to me
If I stop hanging onto the past
And embrace the beauty of the unknown
That will bring me more happiness
Until then
I will allow myself to connect with myself
No judgement
No fear
No regrets
Just acceptance and
No expectations
lulu Nov 2018
You were my cigar,
a very toxic one,
you were waiting to be lit.
I was your lighter,
i was hoping to see a flame.
We burned,
intensely,
brightly.
But now all that's left is smoke.
'our love has burnt.'
so, i thought but no.
Nthaby Sep 2018
You were born with a garden of flowers reigning in your heart
Every flower bloomed at the right season
You caltivated your garden
You pruned your flowers
You watered your flowers
You loved your flowers and couldn't wait to share them
You gave the key to your garden to wrong people
They stole your flowers
They didn't help you water your flowers
They cut your flowers
Your garden was now ruined
What am I gonna do now? You asked yourself
You covered your head with blankets crying.
Your flowers are in ruins
You have fresh seeds now
Seeds to start a new garden
With tears running on your face , you revive the old flowers and plant new
You patiently build your garden again
The dead flowers are on the outskirts
The new flowers are hidden where no one can see them
You love your new garden more than before
More intensely that you are hidding it away
You dont want people to see your flowers
You don't want to give them the keys
You show them the old dead flowers when they come to view
Knowing very well that no one likes dead flowers
Carter Ginter Jan 2018
Amongst the purple clouds
My mind swims so freely
Thoughts of you are overwhelming
And my chest aches in withdrawal
From this new experience

It all feels so fast
But addictions often are
Pulsating heart
Your words alone intensify it's beat
Your touch makes it race even faster
But it also pulses deep

Even as time passes
These feelings grow more intensely
I can't imagine how that's possible
But I'm lost in this world with you
Warmth spreads through my body
As we lay in the silent darkness

This feels like peace
Our own escape from the universe
We've created our own dimension
Comprised of vulnerability and intimacy
Driven by anarchist tendencies
It feels nearly untouchable

You're my drug of choice
And I'm high on this love
Buzzing from your smile
And your laugh fuels my soul
I am finally present
In these beautiful moments with you

Our hands meet in the dark
Under the influence of these feelings
I know I could chase this high forever
Rickie Louis Apr 2018
The times I miss you the most,
Immensely.
I rid myself quickly by remembering how you made me feel,
Intensely.
Despite my will for you and I,
You often made my heart run dry.
I went from darkness,
To light.
Desperate,
To flight.
elizabeth Feb 2018
i heard your voice today.
it echoed in my ears.
the sound that once soothed me and brought a smile to my lips now feels unfamiliar and unknown,
like, once again, you are simply a passing stranger i have yet to meet.

it doesn't hurt, at least not the way it used to.
the pain is no longer intensely jarring.
instead, occasionally
a numbing wave of missing you passes over me
and shifts me into a new phase of grief,
but i recover.

i have loved and i have lost,
but i am better because of it.
within the darkness and the shambles of you,
a tiny daisy grew through the cracks.
i have blossomed.
your leaving created a power i never knew i had,
it gave me the strength to transform into myself.
CRobinson Oct 2018
Your taste hits my lips and I cannot help but smile
I feel such joy and love when your in my life
Your embrace reaches down to the pit of my stomach
and you warm my body intensely
Your sight alone brings anyone to their knees
buckling
trembling
By God! I cannot live without you!
Every second!
Every moment!
I would live off of your breath I could
But since I can't I'll stick with your taste
Your sweet, intoxicating taste
I can't get enough.
Pagan Paul Nov 2018
.
The hypotenuse stretched
as far as the eye could see,
across a vast lateral plain
an horizon mathematically perfect.
And yet …
In the main square of the hypotenuse
the town crier bellowed out tidings.
The Triangle Triumvirate was unstable,
the discovery, nay re-discovery,
of the Mystery, the most horrific of Mysteries,
the Mystery of the missing
Fourth-Side.

Dweeb was a box standard barbarian.
Quick to anger, slow of wit.
Like last night at dinner.
He had Three potatoes, his sister had Four.
He shouted and thumped the table,
his angry voice expunging his ire.
Then his sister had explained,
to calm and reassure him.
Three was more than Four
because it had Five letters in it.
And Five is more than Four.
He thought about his axe,
then about his abacus,
and then he ate his spuds.

The Fourth-Side drifted in spacial isolation.
Of course now it wasn't a Side.
Being attached to nothing, it was just a line,
but it had some tricks.
It could coil and curl itself
to form rude words in joined up writing.
It floated on reminiscing,
about the **** angles it had made
with all its previous adjacent lovers.
The memory caused spasms
and it formed into a rude word
that should never ever be written down.

Teena, Dweeb's sister, vomited.
She had kissed a puppy,
and was being sick in the morning,
was she pregnant?
But, it was never a puppy, always a stork.
He mum had told her, warned her
'never kiss an errant stalk'.
Her mum died of the pox, whatever that is.
Something clicked in her head.
Oh! Stork and stalk!
Well they do sound the same,
especially in a harsh barbarian accent.
But the puppy had sneezed
as she had kissed it goodnight.
She thought about her axe.
And then she threw up again.


Equations to be solved #7
Vlad the Impaler was a Barbarian
+
Vlad the Impaler was a Libra
=
Dracula was a Librarian?



Right Angle was worried.
Duly so.
If the Fourth-Side Mystery was solved
he'd have three other Right Angles to deal with,
instead of a sixty and a thirty.
The Triangle Triumvirate would cease.
An intense Quadrilateral Mexican stand-off
would ruffle his perfect two-seventy external.
He had to divert attention away,
far, far away, from the Fourth-Side.
By Jove he had it! Bingo!
Let them try to solve
the Mystery of
The Back-Side.

Dweeb loved winding up his sister.
So he hid her puppy in a box.
But now he was worried.
Was the puppy still alive?
Or dead? Or both?
This may sound like a ****** stupid question
but where did that last thought come from?
Yes!
Yes what?
Yes, it was a ****** stupid question!

Teena though it very strange.
When she rang the dinner Triangle
the cat sat on the mat,
Salivating!
Curiouser and curiouser.
Conditioned response or learnt behaviour?
Teena dismissed the thought line,
she didn't ask ****** stupid questions.

It had no idea
about its status as a Mystery.
The Fourth-Side has issues.
Complicated issues.
It had somehow conspired
to tie itself in a knot.
And spacial isolation had become crowded.
Missing links everywhere, the sofa of time,
excommunicated integers, 1970's wallpaper,
it all floated about in spacial isolation.
Above all Fourth-Side was intensely agitated.
Couldn't anyone quieten that yapping puppy?




© Pagan Paul (06/11/18)
.
My psychedelic washing machine mind on spin cycle!

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/29495/strange-world/
.
Eno Sep 2018
7 lives
Intertwined
Some were breaking
Now riding the wave
Others were drowning
Now swimming up and away
There’s secrets cleaning the tables
Unanswered questions serving food
And I cannot comprehend the distance

Between me

And

You.

We began in tandem
Building this great pyramid
A myriad of hope
Block by block
Carried by our journey to discover new lands
Off the shores of collective success
Together
Some higher than others;
All in it.
With smiles
And parties
Tears and fears
Winding along and around
Working intensely
Loving concepts, people, food
It was just good business
They say...

3 years on
Time sweeps our intricate
Fast paced
Warped and winning
Bodies and brains
Under, once more,
The same old roof -
Oh my, how things have changed

Those men who were ringing the bells
Calling the shots
Trail scandals behind them
Like pieces of toilet paper
Still attached to their shiny, worn out shoes
Are we a pleasant reminder of a band of brothers in arms
A loyal family of resilient workers
Who played a note or two in your orchestrated dream?
Rather I fear
It’s much the opposite
Although we were greeted like old friends
With lopsided smiles of nostalgia
In the pit of my stomach
(The one you used to feed)
It just seemed like we were evidence of ghostly shame
An unwelcome reminder of a past which tried to swallow them up for dinner
A quiet embarrassment
That knew it did not deserve us
Like a lover who had tried to move on
When we’d decided to move in next door
1
Even the scene I was making was making a scene:
Rosencrantzandguildensternaredeadmachine.
2
I've been freed by friendlessness, so why do old pals
embitter w/ velleity a reunion can still rouse?
3
It's just I'm so swizzed by reading trueselfbydates.
Shawl, who is also called Pall; runagate who is also prostrate.
4
To the bull's eye, the hawkeye is palpable, tangible, felt
To the hawkeye, the bull's eye is palpable, tangible, felt.
5
Phone went. Atonement? Opponent. Alone meant
renewal of the same old selfentering entertainment.
6
Narcissistic conception: a privately bred clone
'tis my duty to bully, torture earnestly. One does one's own.
7
British Ionists don't even understand Zirony.
But I wish I was as simple as just contradictory.
8
Tragready? Incipit tragoedia: travesties hurt.
Like seeing my Riot Grrl swiothrrt in a 'Travis' tshirt.
9
Trillions killed during filming, fastforwarded orchids.
Cast of inexpendable heart oscitation deleted.
10
To einsof soft life on the air, we're lost. In the sour feast,
50 years' service is a ****** on the mantlepiece.
11
*******, mon semblance! Goose scry to the scaly
Torygraph; Presidented Gein; masSACREDad (God's Mochrie).
12
It takes CITV & CBBC & pre-DWP DSS & pre-DSS
DHSS to raise a child, not a Doubting Momus.
13
Dreamflounder, dreamfloater, dreambounder in a dreamboater.
English country Capgras bros. of a stranger in  an oater.
14
Nil admirari, ennui, omnui, zennui, nitchevo.
Yet buckaroo Love's hopingpong lives out my spermself's FOMO.
15
I foamed at the month, Lysember, annually,
for flavour of the mouth should be Oxyjanuary.
16
Sandwich artists, stationary bloggers & ancient astronaut
theorists all walked Jackonoryology in school reports.
17
'Sweirdly emasculating, like a tall grandmother,
how I cannot poetsplain the future or its lovers.
18
1,000 albino bishybarnabees rorschach the tragic
lantern: swarm th'only pattern of fatback TV static.
19
Negress of the World dreams of unio Mr.Car
in the cave of charades that's shrine to an umbra.
20
Afflatic calculus of tragic trajectories, romantic ratios:
lyricalgebra. Show my working: Statement of Aesthetics, Rothko.
21
Song of alien vitalism, Neanderthal Jesse Garon.
Prosody fit for Methuselated muse, Struldbrugg paean.
22
How clean is your dream disqualidayhome celebrikitchen
bug in **** conscience, Carol Vorderline? Pigpen's plugin.
23
Jack of Shapes, Jack of Ages, Jack of Doors, Jack of Cues.
Best of all possible Lords to follow? Serendipitous debuts.
24
The Devil writhes a kiddiefiddlin' schtick.
The Devil is a devout Catholic.
25
Pincered zen selfsparta builtsitting in what it's from:
cogito keeping its damnable cheek above fatsam & fleshsam.
26
I feel it so intensely: irony of ironies when I don't care.
Selffulfulling jelly w/ nothing to fear but fears nothing hears.
27
Experienshit, differenshit, definitely still ****, diffranchiser
of scheisser. Choken record: wist zither, aubade nebuliser.
28
You pick up. Seashellsussurus of a radioed purlieu.
Your crepitant crelp, monastic by virtue of ***** flu.
29
Bellybutton ash/blue & green dahlia: inner & outer bull
of bull's eye anthropocentrism. Both can & can't be too careful.
30
Hawkeye Bennu or other siderolite's solipsism
cuts short my nut cutlet nuncheon: absurdissimum prism.
avalon Apr 2018
his knuckles are bruised and swollen and his hands shudder slightly as i brush my fingers across them. i feel the pain radiating off of him as intensely as the sun on my neck, and it leaves me with a weight in my chest i can’t seem to shake. i can’t look at his eyes when i whisper

“why do you do this to yourself?” i know, i know, i know,

“every time i am harsh with myself,” he says, turning his hands over to grasp mine, “i remember to touch you more gently.”
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