Friday, May 9, 2014

The Perfect


It is better when you are a distant memory, 
And not in my face. 

My head had wilted upon occasion 
And even cried. 
My sensitive pedals to the hot & dry, 
The ice and cold...
The warm and told. 

Better somehow 
That I am fond of your from this warm place...
Before I freeze over from resisting 
What is not given....over- 

A perfect breeze. 





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