The best of my poetry wasn't written down,
Rather, was spoken to empty rooms,
The stinging silence pregnant,
Each syllable a fleshy womb
Creating, and recreating, your
Image in my mind.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
The best of my poetry wasn't written down,
Rather, was spoken to empty rooms,
The stinging silence pregnant,
Each syllable a fleshy womb
Creating, and recreating, your
Image in my mind.
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