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One poem
The Science of Too Much
Late nights are spent wandering the dark rooms of the apartment
Cupping a tumbler of bourbon. Step lightly on the floorboards
As to not wake your lover. The kitchen table is littered
With dirty dishes, food wrappers, poorly done collages.
The mornings come blearily with a potfull of coffee
And awkward goodbyes. Clothes, makeup, out into the cold
For another day. Life is the thin ice underneath
Your shoes; it fractures into infinite patterns.
