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The Small Hours

There’s the taste of truth in a coffee cup
Steam rising gently and sweet.
I am sitting with blankets and thoughts wrapped up
In the darkness where both of us meet.

It’s the small hours where I hear you close
When night fades softly to dawn.
We keep talking and reaching, gravity shows
In our rooms with the curtains drawn.

The taste of coffee reminds me now
Of futures that only can be
...

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