Lost Memories of Him
The tang of pickled jalapenos lingers on my lips, making them poutier. When I met him, it was like an instant camera capturing a moment of pure love. His longing lips whispered a quiet hello in his native tongue, a dialect that warmed me. His love was unique, unlike any other.
My heart unfolded like a hot burrito,
and his looks smote me.
Two years later, I find myself lost in this love.
I am a poet.
i am the forgotten book,
i am the missing pages that were never publish
i am me, that girl: nobody wants to talk too
i am the missing link of what true love is all about
i am that sour burrito, you regret eating
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