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instanceofregret

United States

I can't write a bio to save my life.

For a Poet

October 12, 2017

FREE WRITING

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quiet now on the sinful lands
all dim and the sharp moon
splinters against the waters

old man walking alone 
across the stretch of sand
for the sake of it - dark, peppered beard
full of academic wisdom: 
he has a thousand books in his head
and a perfumed letter in his pocket
he's kissed a million times 
it still smells like Lancôme

and the postcard being sent from miles away
with the folded letter, sleeping inside
like a baby, hush, Papa's coming home now
from the lost years
the accumulation of all that's lost
all that will never be seen and is
forgotten





 
Meh

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  • October 12, 2017 - 1:44pm (Now Viewing)

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