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three a.m. the smell of coffee lingers upon his hand sifting through his thoughts like shells in the sand like bullets of pain that tore him apart robbing his desire like a shopping mart leaving him for dead in the dismal diner fallen down a shaft like an ex-coal miner the stench of a smoke wafts towards his eyes betraying his vision whispering soft lies about where its going and where it has been where it wants to be and why there is sin wooing him gently under her rhythm stealing the breath out of love within him the feel of a dime as he pulls it out reminds him of days when he had no doubt when trust was secure pure and innocent when love was aflight and now discontent with the way life is and the way it was when love was around creating a buzz the taste of stale pie as it dries his mouth as he finds he keys and thinks of the south where women are true beautiful and wise kindness emitting from their dark handsome eyes where coffee is fresh and pies all home-made where thoughts don't linger and love doesn't jade. |