with an air of finality

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your orange lips are the taste of the rift left by the extinguished sun where she dipped into the nectar of the sea; i hate them just as i hate you. don't smear citrus-scented amends upon my brow; don't carelessly pin me with sympathy that bleeds sunset-red on my chest like a medallion of pulled teeth. darling, just slip me a bottle of sedative tears before the silver-lined curtains close; my gelatinous heart never does well with goodbyes. my final request: lock the door on your way out and keep the elevator music playing 'til sunrise.

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