Hush me wind, it’s chilly in my thoughts
Dry out my voice, I argue too much
I can’t see you when you stare straight at me
I’m fevered and lonely
If your mouth brushed mine,
I could share this sickness
I stand here
waiting, staring at the street sign
This road is parallel to yours
How do we meet?
Sunday, August 10, 2008
This Hour and This minute--are my coordinates
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