the first dates that start at five and end at four
wherein you and they speak as if
no one had ever spoken before
wherein the silence flees as you cachinnate
like the kookaburras of song
wherein your face hurts from smiling
and eleven hours doesn't seem so very long
raise your glass to those nights;
the ones to come & ones that went before
and hope that of first dates, at least,
there aren't very many more
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