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Literature Text
Often, I speak of you
and the secrets you made
Now, I think of your body
the flesh you hid
like a fruit; the gift
you made of summer
I think of the boys
who died in this woodland
and you, you
were the most natural thing
and I ate just enough of you
not to die
and the secrets you made
Now, I think of your body
the flesh you hid
like a fruit; the gift
you made of summer
I think of the boys
who died in this woodland
and you, you
were the most natural thing
and I ate just enough of you
not to die
Literature
Summer's Passing
The first flush of death
burns brightly beyond the pale
a vibrant shudder
followed by soft hues of grey
winter lingers on the verge.
Literature
look at the mirror and fall in love at first sight
give yourself a flower
and wear your favorite
sweater
sit in a nice, quiet
little coffee shop
and meet yourself
with that first sip
of warmth
and a smile.
in the afternoon,
walk to the nearest park
and hold your hands
together
as if in a prayer
like a lover's dream,
be sweet to yourself
for once.
let the kid with the waffle cone
and his mother
stare at you for 45 seconds
while you feed the birds
hang those insecurities
by the door
or tuck them away
somewhere
in your cabinets
or drawers-
just take them off
today,
pick a hot red dress
and buy yourself
a drink for two
tonight,
mirror at one end
of the table
and your love
at the other.
Literature
childish immortality
we're so ocean weary -
salt jeweled hair,
no anchors to plant.
i'll be plucking sand
from between my toes
for weeks.
we roll the windows down
in our cars and homes
to let the neighbors in,
to let the smoke out.
and by the way our
shoes slap the asphalt,
humidity stalling sore ankles,
you'd think we cause heart attacks.
but we'll never tell you
we're running from ourselves.
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