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January 2019, vol 14 no 4

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Tom Painting


When we first moved in together we fumbled our way through the prelims of love, while the rhythmic bouncing from the bedroom above told a different story. I’m not sure we ever figured it out, guarded as we were, like today some 50 years later on a chance encounter, stumbling over our words.

a fur of mold
on the raspberries
lingering heat