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   I have awoken with dreamy eyes In too many unfamiliar placesOn warm exotic beaches - in inexpensive inner city beds
Under my shirt is my skin under my skin is my heart under my heart, boiling water an ocean above flames.   The fuel, words a combination they call poetry metaphors and similes
I took a walk up to the hill It sure is a good night for this My arms feel the air and its chill The quiet sounds so much like bliss My feet crunch through leaves that fell down It is the only sound I hear
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