Amateur Hour Poetry
Pretty much what it sounds like.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
I Lost
You are all your fingers in my hair,
my curly cap, my darkling dancer,
you are your weight against my thighs.
You are quick, cool breaths against my brows.
You are little lines on my pages,
my America, my new found land.
1 comment:
Anonymous
December 6, 2012 at 10:45 AM
Don't ever stop writing.
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Don't ever stop writing.
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