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Tel Quel

je sais bien mai quand même

So I stared awhile and waited for words, the right words, but your head was on my chest and I could not speak so I traced and coloured silhouette hearts onto the contour of your shoulders with my fingertips instead, gathering that this would be more symbolic, more faithful, more promising than tracing crop-circles into your skull, what good would circles have done anyway.

Oh, but your hair smells nice.



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