Her old milk crate bed

We wore pork hats

We listened to Patti Smith rage

We made love on your old milk crate bed

My blood in your veins

I bought you a book of love poems

By Neruda

You gave me your mouth

Bending into morning

My tongue trailed along your back

You quivering

In the soft light

We talked about India

We talked about Rishikesh

I told her she should see the sun

Over the Ganges

It is amazing

I wrote you a poem

You posted it on your

Wall.

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