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Denisov
Let me lose myself
In the dusty corridors of our
Conversations, in the
Dirt on your
Work-weary fingertips.
For once, allow me
To gaze at you, to
Plot every point, every fleeting star
In the galaxies of your eyes.
Worry not, dearest
About the fate of
The world we know,
For time does not stand still
And now exists
Only for a moment.
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