partial response to Adrienne Rich's poem Song, and to my life, just then:

You're wondering if I'm lonely:
Sometimes I press my face to the wall
until we are the same temperature -
and I'm sure that I feel a chest - neck - arm
and I'm sure that my tears fall somewhere.

You ask me if I'm lonely
as my life moves on an assembly line,
each day smells of the other.

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