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Standing still, I collect myself silently
She is there, so this time there was no flake
As we embrace too long for comfort, I realise my mistake
While she has eyes like a heartache, she smells pungently
It’s a sweat and burnt-tyre-incense used too liberally
She seems sweet though and I don’t want to be a flake
Minutes pass, beginning to suspect that she’s baked
Barring that, she’s out of touch with reality
She tells me of spirits and mind control pills
How scientists covers up alien broadcasts
Then she, unsolicited, pours liquid into my coffee
I tire when she says it’s silver and will cure all my ills
The barista throws me a smile as I walk on past
“No second date this time then?” she asks gladly
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- 4 years ago
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