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Leaving Your City In the midnight bar your breath collapsed on me. I balanced on the tip of your smile, holding on to your words as I climbed the dark steps. Meticulous, your furniture neatly arranged for death, you sharpened the knife on the moon's surface, polished it with lunatic silver. You were kind, reciting poetry in a drunk tongue. I thought: At last! Now I loiter in and out of your memory, speaking to you wherever I go. I'm reduced to my poverties and you to a restless dream from another country where the sea is the most expensive blue. 42 My finger, your phone number at its tip, dials the night. And your city follows me, its lights dying in my eyes. 43 ...

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