Untitled
Untitled
Every heart felt typed word I send out
to the lazy technology had become angry wine.
I don’t blame, for my one room is made
of old stained glass a tap could break.
No clever posted quotes of the dead
on books of faces will forgive the day
I slipped to green eyes someday
Silvia like -she keeps the oven door open
inhaling deep the slow kill till sleep
With each gray whisker count rises
my truth wants to stop pursuit of forever
To be honest about companionship.
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