I look at the back of your head
And wind blown hair
In front of the trees
On a sunny day in Brooklyn
And you say
It’s greasy today
I haven’t washed it
We eat shrimp that sweats
With wine white in iced
Packs of plastic
And you talk
Into your phone
And enjoy a day out
At last on grass
Then we cycle back
On the thankless track
That new Jacks built
To sweets in your flat
Apartment
And hours of love
In the face of days without it
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