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{#540} adam fieled In the pregnant pause between your mouth's movement and a gush of thick metrics, I had a vision of sun-dappled red hair that must have been yours, because we were in a forest. Since it was 1918, I did not have a stun-gun to plummet it back to the grungy soul- morass from which it hung— but the forest’s frail pomp brought green into mistletoe so that the kiss came out kid. |
