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if some day
my feet
go wandering
down your street,
in some late
summer day,
with the hot air
heavying on
your young shoulders
(ever so yonger than mine)
and you see me
standing, eyes
smoldering,
hands in tremor,
cigarette burning
my fingers,
don’t come close,
don’t break the spell
of no-one ever
coming close
to you.

August, 2012