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Potluck

Every now and sometimes then, You might not know how or when, But you’ll be informed somehow someway — of something held once in a Wednesday.

Conversations unanimously unique — once in a lifetime people who you meet. Laughter by the bottle, conversation by the plate. Forget about your troubles, and any latent hate.

You’d think love would have its limits, but you’ll circle back, and never finish. Our circles circle rings locked tight, our shoulders rubbing through the night.

Who knows who — you might meet there? What’s your name? You’re from where? And which friend(s) introduced you, guest? Oh no way! She/he/they are the best!

And then comes the rigorous cleaning process. Where I eat more than I can process. Another sip of this, and a pull from that. I think I’ll grab the piece with all the fat.

You can’t bottle love… but you can pipe it. Our conduit’s as wide as my smile likes it.

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