The Artist

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Today’s love affair was a slow burn. He read Shakespeare and Keats to me while we drank espresso. We went to slam poetry events and read our ecstasy fueled words to the beat of a snare drum. We had threesomes and orgies until I realized even though he was older than me he’d never mature past beatnik. I left him a goodbye note next to the half-eaten cheesecake in the fridge.

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