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 ^{(it's beta!)}

The stale, sticky air escapes in rolls From this skin-tight town. You can see it rising like my old blue kite dancing across fields Of green dotted yellow. I still see your body, vivid, imprinted on mine. And your creaking shoulderblades naked on my hipbones. And your morning breath billowing on my pale stomach. But as I walk alone past fruit carts, old broken-down camera shops and foreign faces, I crave your lungs.