photo of a church

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I grew up

in a city filled

with clocks and faces. 

Drunk

always in some way,

on time.

The beat of boats and floating bridges.

The beat of your hair against mine. 

I don’t think I can ever fully be quenched

by a glass of water again.

Again, the tick tick tick

against the panels of glass

protecting nature from people.  

I grew up. 

And I am thirsty.