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The Honeymoon Ends

 

I should tell you about the dust in September.

Plastic pegs crack in the heat

Dust dries the hands,

hot feet in nights of strange calls,

crisps hanging clothes and hovers

like anticipation round routines.

Cool mornings now with warm breeze bringing dust,

dust, dust.

Sandy coloured blocks of homes cluster on hills surrounding this oasis

of contrasts and mirages

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