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Your fluorescent reflection of a retrograde girlfriend
Hands exchanged over a melamine tabletop
You are traveling though
A treacherous revolving door.
Lemon wedge moon above him, trace
The bitter ridges of your fingertips
Pale skin in proximity, together
You are alone, under the night
Amongst the others that have traversed that line.
Nearness was all you wanted, and he thanks
His lucky stars that it was nearness,
And not togetherness.
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