Today is a day for yesterday's music and beat;
for tasting my own lips where my heart pounded after you kissed them,
back when you kissed them.
It's a train-track feeling; remembering with a mechanical rhythm
prompted by a hopeful necessity in my eyes,
back when you fucked me, rhythmically.
Everything was in rhythm and machines; the systematic growth and disregard
of skin cells near the drain in my bathtub,
back when you stroked my hand as we rode the train home.
We listened and raced to each other's hearts, as I run alone to this song;
I know the words more than I can remember yours,
back when our bodies moved in tandem.
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