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Crumpled Roses

dripping from his book of poems bleeding red petals from too many crumpled roses he thought he never found his love morning sun stretches through his window pounds the face of the Peloncillos early birds from empty trees reach out while a parade of sighs knifes down the road he tried not to write her into his stitched-up Frankenstein heart poor baby another crumpled rose bleeding from his book of poems

Copyright © | Year Posted 2023




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things