Friday, 17 May 2019

Plume


when her idle fingertip
brushed past my heart
it left a trace in the dust

when she blew the smudge off
it fell like a dandelion of stars
 

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Scattering of flower

  Strewn about the vase the petals a vestige of a gone beauty randomly, perhaps Gathering the withered soft and dead dryness the mind but wa...