Nothing Bloomed
de Algiers
She always is standing on a ledge atop the landing
And we feign a smile because we've reached an understanding
Not to think or dwell on anything
Anything of import
Despite this precarious precipice
And our conversation drags from the slight to exegesis
And her voice begs for comfort
But I cannot resist
To lie about my relationship
My relationship with that word: Abstraction
Abstraction
Abstraction
Abstraction
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