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Mar 2014
our tram rides are loud
words spilling out like loose rice
scattered round our feet
bright blue, silver, darkest black
jackets soft and warm
eye contact that lasts too longβ€”-
immediately
overanalysed, I know.
my wishful thinking,
it often gets out of hand.
walking in the dark,
my hands are cold and lonely
our eyes glance sideways
too much, and yet too little.
Madeline
Written by
Madeline
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