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Should I keep trying to write poetry with my tongue with every person that I kiss

Or should I let the bitter hopelessness continue to eat a burning crater in my chest?

 

She looked at me with timid eyes like I held the universe in the palm of my hand.

"The world and I have fallen out of love," she said,

Her lips tangling around the final word.

With hesitation simmering in my chest

I leaned in to taste her loneliness.

 

We wrote poetry together.

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