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The spoons have taken places
Where the knives should have been
And my table's getting tired
Of taking you between its legs
And the light oh the light
Swaying overhead can bathe you now without getting wet
My keys are all eroding
From the grinding in the locks
But I was always loathe to cut a spare
Should I forget just where it was
And the night oh the night
Swimming overhead
Bathes me like a river-mouth
And pours me into bed
My dreams they
Have you entangled they
Like the drowning they
Reach for their breath they
And want to forget they
Machines have glided under
To occupy your touch
My fingers too have loved them
These concubines of such
Delight and sweetly woven dread
That smooths me like a morning cigarette
The knives have took to hiding
Where the spoons were within
And the carpets dust for prints
Around your heels
And the tight little loops of thread
Kissed the skin you walk upon
And rallied in the square
My dreams they
Have you entangled they
Like the drowning they
Reach for their breath they
And want to forget they
~ Brendan Bonsack
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