leaves with an ardency, akin to fury, rush down hitting my face,angrily removed from loftier heights by the direct of time.
groaning, gasping wind seeking cracks in bricks, and jacket rips
riled: wanting where it is not, unsatisfied.
people stand blowing breath, like impatient horses;
and hands bearing pulse, made only to
touch
shoved far down, encased deep into pockets.
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