There's things i think
'd be nice to think of
When i meet you
Again, and stop begrudging
Each lovely day its
Interminable length.
For even as my
Head joins lines on
Maps that are probably
Misremembered bits of rudimentary
Geography, i read my books and
Wonder what you'd have
Thunk of this line.
But though a hundred
Clever little things would want
To be said and read, by
Then, I'd maybe prefer a small
Silence, stretched seamlessly
Around two-by-one midnights.
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