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passed presence

I left some teeth in the wall. I rose at five in the morning and met you in grey light under some trees on the hill. I kissed you in the wind. I lifted up your dress. You wore black nylons. I kissed your legs. I pressed my cheek to your thigh and held you in the wind and the grey light. My teeth played music in the wall. I lifted up your dress. I kissed your neck and squeezed your breasts. I came on your black nylons. The wall sounds like teeth. The trees sound like grey light on a windy morning. I kissed your hair. Your breath sounds like the wind on a grey morning. All this stale air feels like stolen cars at six in the morning. I want to fuck you in tall, dead grass under the freeway. Tell me about god in a dead world when I come on your black nylons. Let's sing hymns with teeth when wind blows in from a forgotten swing. One with creaking chains outside the antiques store on a grey morning below the hill. I want to kiss you in the subway tunnels after the end of the world. I want to kiss you and lift up your dress. I want to press your thigh. I want to kiss you before we die.

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