2019
08.16

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taking in the Sun by the longing sighs.

Touching all but one

Of birds higher than cries

Is like a song,

A tune of life

With words of foam and fear.

We press our skins against the boards

Of hoping salty tears.

And leaving far behind us,

The strivings of the nails

That hold my clothes to wooden rows

Of horizontal rails.

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