They move towards a new
themselves, plugged
into a shining romantic
grey-black surface,
reflecting two
skintight legs & there's
a smoothly passing
hiss of bulbous shadow and
bright edge. They ache slightly
to be at the forefront of a past,
of lights in a wet city that echoes
with a cold, night, satisfaction,
and they may get some faint
tremor of that kind, maybe,
across a perimeter and through
a forgetful burial in necessity
and information as they
move towards a new themselves.
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