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Now I am even softer.
Not just the Christmas commercials,
I cry to reggae.
I cry on my way to the shop
so I have to go to the further shop
to give myself more time.

I am nearly beautiful pressed against an edge
I cannot name, for the first time.
I am beautiful about all the things
I can do with my hands for other people.

How much love do I have inside me now?
As in the effect of mass on the curvature
of space-time, or? Ok, ok, something
you can see. Maybe

rapeseed yellow,
every day,
the whole fucking field.