and I don't know what love is
or what anything is, really. Except for how onions taste when you've brushed.
How your mouth tasted right after that bread and the gnocchi. The sorts of alcohol
I like. You you you and your face hairs.
Other you and your stories.
Other other you and the berry beers.
All of this group in my head right now.
There's so much more panhandling downtown lately.
Everything I try to make beautiful. Or speak of only the broadest conclusions and smallest overlookings.
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