you played the violin and it made me feel like i had travelled back in time.
i painted begonia eyes with coral hands on a flesh mountain that month,
when you lived by the warehouses.
we were less human, run on electricity,
our teeth would do funny things and i felt like i was in a soft fishbowl
or a television set, contained and safe with round edges
and we would buy pop from a machine next door
for only
a quarter. and
it made you feel like we had travelled back in time
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