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drink myself asleep
for a love named in dry heat

she would have been mine
if I were a different man
with different hands
and different teeth
but she is another man’s

if I were a pilot with swept hair
and a father that drank black coffee
who read Russian literature in the park
she could have been mine

but I’m so young and fragile
always a storm across my brow

did I mention my melodrama?
I’m writing it for angry lovers