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	<title>quelquefois &#187; found</title>
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		<title>Snails</title>
		<link>http://quelquefois.net/toujours/2011/04/24/snails/</link>
		<comments>http://quelquefois.net/toujours/2011/04/24/snails/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 25 Apr 2011 02:34:22 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Chang</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[found]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[The New Yorker]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://quelquefois.net/toujours/?p=633</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[So that&#8217;s why we close our eyes when we kiss so the tongue can work in the dark the way it likes so slick and nimble no wonder the mouth feels so empty to the tongue how it fills with words slithering and pushing we cannot get more naked than this our tongues touching and sliding together like snails shooting their tiny love darts our empty skulls spiraling behind us. John Witte, via The New Yorker]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>So that&#8217;s why<br />
we close our eyes<br />
when we kiss<br />
so the tongue<br />
can work in the dark<br />
the way it likes<br />
so slick and nimble<br />
no wonder the mouth<br />
feels so empty<br />
to the tongue<br />
how it fills<br />
with words slithering<br />
and pushing<br />
we cannot<br />
get more naked<br />
than this<br />
our tongues touching<br />
and sliding together<br />
like snails<br />
shooting their tiny<br />
love darts<br />
our empty skulls<br />
spiraling<br />
behind us.</p>
<p>John Witte, via <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2011/04/25/110425po_poem_witte">The New Yorker</a></p>
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