we lie on cold floor, hair smelling like summer, faces smeared with chocolate.
then we're next to each other, with our faces against cold glass. hot breaths, and rubbing out words with our soft fingertips.
we turn and with our backs pressing against cold wall, we slide till we hit the ground. at eleven, we make bread, and put it against our faces.
we close our eyes, and the only thing we remember is its all warm now.

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