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Apr 23
And what if your clipped nails meant nothing so
Much as your fear for not looking a the pavement
Beaming petals into the grey medium between us

And what if you knew that your yellow pants
Your hands inserted halfway inside of them
Missed for insecurity the breeze that could figure
Its way between them

And create a ****** that sounds like the
First rain in autumn, or your grandmas resentment
Mingled with the twinging pain of love
Her insistent love for you, little boy

Little boy with the yellow pants,
That could be yellow leaves
That could crinkle like a smile that
Finds irony in point, in every
Green and flashing cross
Eléa
Written by
Eléa
  358
       Jacob James, Mack, TD, clark and ---
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