Strange that the train
should sound as the moment
opens inside you, the wide eyed
secrets you feed furtive,
your breathing reaching
its fingers for your
wanton hand. Strange
the spell upon your lips,
so like the taste of a kiss,
its shape a name
gazing into you,
the train the song at once
awake within your flesh.
Nothing is forgotten,
the past only lasts so long.
Written in the gray condensed
against the window, the wailing
note that fits the list.
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