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sitting in my orange chair,
i feel the rush again.
your stinging slap can,
only make my heart burn hotter,
more than when you kissed me.
i remember you sitting here,
your stare was warmer,
more than when you stopped me.
sitting in my orange chair,
i still want you,
more than before,
now that you've hurt me.
in my opinion, is the orange chair. Not that the rest isn't good, but the phrase "orange chair" makes the poem better than it would be without it.