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Lazily we lay upon the couch,
a tangle of arms and legs.
My cheek pressed against your thigh,
your hand stroking my hair,
as we listened to Jim Morrison
laugh and stumble through his words
stoned but immaculate.
We talked about the desert and listening to the Doors
on your way through the Midwest,
raising grapes and baby Hellenes,
and how perfect moments just kind of creep up on you
sometimes.
I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of your body next to
mine, and enjoyed this one.
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