There was that thing I wrote once. About three sided hats. And Chinese manuscripts. I don't remember what it was called. Love poems with tentacles. Or cellotape gift wrap disasters. For sure it had something to do with eyelashes and the amazocity of some boy's wit. When I still thought that he was funny. And hadn't seen enough foreign films. There's time for me to forget. But not yet. Not the way I still yearn for the sound of your broken tape-deck in the high school car I never rode in. And bad end-of-year dance pictures with our hair all ratted up to bejesus. All those memories of swimming in your carpet. Elbows conversation deep.


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