Our words are fleeting,
as we are the receding tides of
polite and strange,
strung along on high hopes
of better futures,
still lingering on the horizon
but how much longer will it take
for your mind to make a shadow of my memory?
my place with you is transient
I leave you untainted and
able to wash your hands clean
I'm still hung like your laundry
on dirty back alley lines
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