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Poetry
4
A preoccupation
The unlived
This is how I knew
Dear friend
Solitude is not a damned island
19
They suspect I am in love
Our mute dog thinner than a shadow
The middle is where we meet
The rut
Light on this desk
21
Mourning some sort of love
Distance measured in fluidity
God of remarkable nights
We respire like land, in cycles
Sometimes, I think our passions are different

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