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We're walking hand in hand and I feel your fingers pressed between mine and the pulses in our thumbs beat against each other silently, speaking to each other while our mouths remain closed and our thoughts are in our own heads, undiscovered. I feel a need to speak, to say what I mean, what my pulse thinks and I turn and I see you staring ahead and I begin to say and then you pull your hand away and tell me you've got to go, and then you're kissing me briefly and then you're gone.
more a prose poem than a short short i think.

a snapshot. not a cruel one though.
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May 3, 2009
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