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to be found

i could hold twenty in the palm of my hand
thirteen thousand under my finger.
glances are so fleeting.

i guzzle the silence
tastes like cheap wine--
it never burns raw enough
or mellows smooth enough.
you can thank me later for the look i toss you.

there is so much to be found,
but stop looking.
when conversation dries as such
let it hide there because
you’re tired, and

you’re much worse for wear after all.



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