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Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
More in Poems In The Basement 03. your graywe drove through God's country;
you'd tease me about my pit stops, i'd tease you about your wobbly axel and then we would make love in your backseat the sex was awkward, at best but you promised me stars for a crown a skyline of green pine our lives wrapped for miles in your haze but the only thing i could see heading up from the mountains was a sky full of gray a sky full of haze: your gray your haze |
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