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in this poem
might come in September
this close to the ocean
for you to kiss me- and
it may come soon- like the snow
my grilled cheeses
I must be waiting
but I don't mind so much so long
as you still like to eat
four welcome mats away
It hurts to sit
holding a lemonade
on the dead grass
are waiting at your window
but you laugh at them
Those boys who
followed you all last summer
