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Dry Time Killed, the sand didn't give. All waves went dead: your border crossed itself. I couldn't tell or tear us apart. In the absence of hourglasses meanwhiles piled up, swells of the dispellable. Even the diamond shed no oil, not a drop to delight the drilltip. Partners having come unwelded (blasted by nuclear family life) we went a long way back, as far as Abacus (empire of the rook and stork). We roused some dowsers from a timeless doze, we had them scatter Onan's nanoseconds everywhere: in waves and particles, the clearest solitudes could be broadcast. At last you kissed me, I could die again, and one good lick of quicksand took . . . 10 ...

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