I smell milk, warm, bluish, thin
I pucker lips around too small of a spigot
thirst and hunger meld,
a need that is
too vast of a canyon to fill
Years later, the substitute taste is revolting,
attachment incomplete,
past pleasure is a present desire,
a closed loop racecourse
is this highway of love
We spoke a parallel dialect, you see
and translation was lost
forever in the labor of connection
Gloomy Sunday - Billie Holiday - YouTube
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUCyjDOlnPU
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