intoxicated 

inhale the scent of sweat and fervor  

numb your senses and block those insignificant 

thoughts, close your mind and 

open my lips with yours, just don’t say a word – the broken

xerox machine in the corner when I wake in the morning will say enough –

inevitable is regret so we might as well

carry on 

and on 

till our tongues complete their dance of desperation and it’s now the 

end, and we stagger to the door and head away in 

different directions, lonelier than we were the night before. 

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