The wealth of hell
is rich in shallow pools
and deeper discomforts
that resound unparalleled
in the bells
of forgotten towers
My riches run longer rivers,
over common rocks
in honest colors
your sudden laugh
for a cheap joke
over burnt coffee,
sucked down
before work
on Wednesday
Your hand
on my hair,
where I feel you
honey and vanilla
lotion on your shoulder
You make history
meaningful
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