September must be a favourite feeling. I only remember
when I’m in it. We walk up Fulton street, shimmering
at something like 7am. The sun is coming. We walk in gold.
I’m wondering if all the loose things in us
can be put back together.
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I know I’m not the only one who feels this.
My friend is talking, fast. She walks in grief
and gold. She tells me abou…
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