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You Could Just Kill Him for the time he left you stranded on the corner of 3rd and Lincoln in the pouring rain with that wind biting at your skin like a thousand angry teeth. Or for the time he told all of your co- workers, including the big boss, during last year's Christmas party that you snore, clip your toenails in bed and drink whiskey straight outta the bottle whenever the mood strikes you. You could just kill him for the way he mispronounces your name when he's drunk, slurring Lisa into Leeza and falling into walls. But, then he's asleep. All acute angles soften and curl in their slumber and you watch him as he breathes and murmurs and dreams and you take hold of his hand and you press it to your cheek and you inhale of it and your heart, Oh Lord, skips a beat, and you pray, Oh Lord, let him keep.
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