This is not a poem by Anthony Anaxagorou
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good name.
i often spell it worng,
ask him.
met on the station,
like a film, black and white.
kissed, discussed the world,
and poetry over coffee, in exhibition,
with fish nā chips, recommended by
the locals, tasted like dripping, lovely.
visited an old house,i talked about
my old house, we discovered cures
for ghastly things with diagrams, all
spelled with āfā s.
over tea, we turned black and
white again. decided,
any difference should make no difference,
the third word not allowed,
no more.
good name,
we are friends in colour.
sbm.