not looking for a bed even though that's why you worry. Seeking
cinema where you go with friends, a bottle of wine
that untap
to conquer, the
diary writing in the evening.
not looking for a bed.
E '
deception to hide behind the truth
found on a cigarette butt thrown. And while I sew
yet another pocket on the pants
used
hear you cough
the toxicity of your buon'io
[suddenly, perhaps, from the magnitude of deprivation]
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