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The clock in the hall reminds me
That time hasn’t stopped.
It echoes like your footsteps —
If I could write a poem
About the way I wish you would look at me,
It might come out more as a summer’s day.
The movie moments are filmed in apartment mirrors,
Or hastily scrawled in an appointment book,
In pencil, off to the side.
Nothing screams romance
Quite like the words you whisper in your sleep,
Or waiting for the telephone to ring
On a city glow of a Saturday night.

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