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30 This is not a silent movie—there is music & you are the pianist, your breathing, your slight cough, the sighing of your hair the only notes I hear. Together, we are naked in the darkness. Before I prowled the streets but all that noise meant absolutely nothing. Lovers said they loved me, shouting sometimes I was so deaf to their cacophonous emotions but that only made me lonely no matter what the language. Without knowing, I hunted for the liquid music that is you. Now, I hunger for the movement of your fingers, the pale almonds of your nails barely seen in dimness. In between each feature I pace the lobby famished until the lights go down. ...

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