It's simply living together, that run-on sentence
that never admits to paragraph. Essayed for once,
it's a two-time, double-spaced delimitation on 
solitude, prefixed to suffice as the reason to be.
Gaunt letters trudged from mailbox to slot, a
wish on the wind for breezes who bear buttress
togetherness. Nets work to collate what I's see
and you's a plural group, y'all misnomer crew.
Ship-wide thin interests compound to home;
according to narrators: it's epilogue season,
indices append names and places,
having every back.

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