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S R Mats
Poems
1d
Tinsel
I see your beautiful mouth as you edge forward.
Your lips open, almost caressing the mic
And then honey pours out.
Your lyrics curl around those sitting here
Like smoke from a lone cigarette in a tray
And bind us all together.
Eyes close with tender inflection
Dragging us into his pain, again and again.
The music ends and his pain is gone
But will resurface the next time he sings.
Written by
S R Mats
F/Houston, TX
(F/Houston, TX)
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