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Year
From late night collapse of limes 
rum lovers leap to death in each
others arms. 
Upon the sill they lean
resigned, 
dead calm revolving in a
yellow light. 
Neither fright nor anger
nor drunken joy 
calls them to this
moment but habit. 
Each morning
settles something and so 
they resolve
half asleep in the window to 
disturb
the air. With thickened tongues

they obediently fall bidden by 
fire 
that is hidden in all alarms. 
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