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She looks at the colours
on his chest and the noise
in his hair, she cuts the
frowns and gold medals
fall, gifts from old
countries and push ups
from lost dogs.
His modern notions of
fabric and she only wants
to touch him in his dining
room, red on top of
white steel, like
raspberries over snow. Tea
boils between the eyes
of present and present tense.
Life has not a home in
the valley of bending.

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