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Exquisite and cultured coriander sweat

Dripping expectation and runaway 

Small crumbs of bread in my hand

Pray for me and safe travel 

I’d sip wine the most bitter

If it could donate my will and hope

Blood that I have saved, all for you

Hundreds of drops

Slow and sincere, stepping on toes 

Heads down and apologetic prose 

Unable to dance in the vistas of northern India

My heart chilly as the night, whimpers 

Wanting to run right into your embrace

Always warm like the south 

Never jeering and undaunted 

With you my smile never faded

But that was a long time ago

Categories: poetry Prose

Tagged as:

The Sad Owl

I'm just here. Until I'm not.

4 replies

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