surreal
I can't imagine
my loneliness
being less
than the
outpouring
of gloves,
removed
so slowly......
I've seen fabric,
fade,
so strangely,
that was new
until abused...
A moon's cock-tail
is a sickness of dresses
a mid-night of a steal
of fresh red peppermints
of your gorgeous lips
as blazing shores in hail,
left behind, red starfishs
There's angelic in gentle hews
left behind in ever so clever
of wide-open innocent clues
and octopus denies
having pockets,
of measured in a few
hanging up dark closets..
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