Speaking still
in triangles
the moon's half smile
last night gazes zen
past the brazen
stare of the phone
which kisses my fingers
promises to wake at four
And after that, the flare
of the soft scimitar
of your mouth
dim with sleep
_
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another que sera, sera
* I compiled all the wonderful comments about my uncle and shared it with him. At first he tried to play it off and told me that I should ha...
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