When I am alone
In the comfort of silence
The thought of you
Is a soft collision of infant little joys
But as it is
In the presence
of cars, and light
of wind and noise
all things
rearrange.
My coffe, is awefully bitter.
Vintage dresses, are awefully bleak,
And boys, are awefully mean.
And you
With the widespread of your sholders, and the microscopic haires coating your clinched jaw.
The thought of you.
In the discomfort of noise.
is a bit harsh.
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