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Brett Bonnete
Poems
Dec 2023
V.I
he, the lone teleprompter,
it rings, the voice, still, silent
he calls, always, I answer
our minutes, then forbidden
by all, who grovel, hidden
alas- they won't take my love
serendipity, it drips
rose fingertips, and winter
it arrives, each time, too late
a ballad, perhaps essence
bittersweet recollections
who we were, your bruised children
who we are, long forgotten
intertwined, a shared thought
remember, how we forgot?
Written by
Brett Bonnete
20/Houston
(20/Houston)
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