ant5

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you chat

my toes find

the front of their shoes

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the sun

takes out half

the window with webs

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three or four

spices you recall

in the infirmary

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my hands get

sticky looking for

the coriander

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dark green April

the grass outlasts

the blooms

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we wake embracing

the same

pillow

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ten minutes slow

the clock notes

the empty house

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while we slept

in the cats gathered

for a strike

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back of the fridge

pickle juice

thick as syrup

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