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Rainy Days in a Moscow Apartment

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the wind


laughs
at the
Angry waters
drumming the roofs
with Dancing heels, and the



swish-swash
of the rain on the pavement
makes the thunder
Roar
at its
Mischief.

I sit


Looking
over the rim of a mug at
ice-blue eyes,
coming in the door and


flickering as
they watch me.

The salt,
and bread,
and





Cold, unwashed sheets...
and the
smell
of skin
and hair
and Colorful rags...
and him,
fill the













space
between cinder-block walls,
as I
Stare,
and my coffee waits,
getting cold.



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