This New Year’s Eve

On New Year’s Eve,
the baijiu goes floating by.
Touching the lips,
too drunk to dance.

The cold is hitting on me,
which I did not summon.
It’s just a habit, I tell myself.
Something left to forget.

I rub my cheek bone,
as I always do.
And find a place to write a poem.
A place with a life-living-sun.

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