I Lost You at Ireland

7 Sep

Thirty-thousand sheets of paper fell down like drippin’ snow in August.

We were covered.

They were all named “Dave”.

Eight-hundred new isotopes were found on the insides of Thoreau’s glasses.

They were covered.

We were acting like items.

There was a face-off of great magnitude (Most people would agree that it felt like an 8).  Ground spurred and gurgled and sounds burped.  I fell off of a horse which I had never gotten onto.

And I smelled your perfume between the computer stalls.  It was like mildewed cotton.  Splayed between my fingers, I forgot how much I liked it.  Then I ate it.


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