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she came and went just out of reach like a dream escaping your mind as the night escapes the sky a whiff of perfume from a passing stranger that takes you back to some memory you can’t quite remember unexplainable I’m tumbling all over myself fumbling with the words I know and the language I do not silly boy I have some questions for you and I would have said anything she wanted so long as I could leave my message in fingertip cursive in the steam on her mirror I wish to catch you beneath back porch moons a lightning bug in my jar in hues of red passion and purple contemplation my hands running through her hair fingertips gently tracing the arch of her spine hobos walking alone through the railway dust she is the claw game toy which fell at the last minute I’ve been up late at night scouring every darkened corridor and upturned rock pebbles to be skipped across the pond always looking for another taste of that perfume maybe tonight as I am resting in deep sanctifying sleep maybe we will cross paths and fall atop each other in a heap of love and sweat and maybe in the morning I won’t forget her
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Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
Down the Rabbit Hole
she came and went just out of reach like a dream escaping your mind as the night escapes the sky a whiff of perfume from a passing stranger that takes you back to some memory you can’t quite remember unexplainable I’m tumbling all over myself fumbling with the words I know and the language I do not silly boy I have some questions for you and I would have said anything she wanted so long as I could leave my message in fingertip cursive in the steam on her mirror I wish to catch you beneath back porch moons a lightning bug in my jar in hues of red passion and purple contemplation my hands running through her hair fingertips gently tracing the arch of her spine hobos walking alone through the railway dust she is the claw game toy which fell at the last minute I’ve been up late at night scouring every darkened corridor and upturned rock pebbles to be skipped across the pond always looking for another taste of that perfume maybe tonight as I am resting in deep sanctifying sleep maybe we will cross paths and fall atop each other in a heap of love and sweat and maybe in the morning I won’t forget her
harry-j-baxter
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Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
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