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It’s not that I have anything to say, I clarified, it’s just that if we sit here long enough, the grass gently perspiring living green sap into the overheated bottoms of our jeans, maybe if we just keep breathing and out, mouths open, then sooner or later something will come out of us and entwine and merge and be poetry.

You lit my cigarette and said nothing, squinting at the sun in that way of yours which promises pithiness and candor. But I knew that what you were really thinking is how not to deliver on that promise, like so many that have come before, and I almost would have been disappointed if you said yes, look into my eyes and listen to my words and I will make you a love letter out of daisy chains. Cheating me out of my pain is not one of your shortcomings.

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