POETRY FOR OUTLIERS
Sunday, October 30, 2016
DON’T ASK
She glides up behind me
on feet as soundless as spring’s last frost
Her arms insinuate themselves around my neck
with the warmth of cashmere
And I dare not ask how I found her
or how I may lose her
1 comment:
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October 30, 2016 at 3:51 PM
nice message
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nice message
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