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Sipping coffee black as 7 am in winterClothed by the hum of a single heaterThe clock drips, solemnly swearing you into the dayAn unset table is the page on which you're summoned to writeYou cryFingers expansive as galaxies covering your shameYour faceContracting like pinecones in rainYou seeOld signs on the walls of your heart with a blubbering lightSomething's missingYou