I guess we've said all that was meant to be said,
those lovely things we dream of childishly in the morning,
become scuffed up and dirty by the time we go to bed.
What about that dusk scene that is so used,
can we say anything about that?
Any words to describe how each sunset is unremarkable
because we're not surprised anymore?
(This could be a beginning, middle, or end of poem. From midnights, locked in a public pool.)
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