oldA Poem by Leslie Philibertold is the small of lavender, washed faces, the dust brown of waxed furniture, bouquets of veined hands that hide pearls in indian boxes, alongside cameras that fled across years, heavy-eyed ; then there is you,the way you change, you are half of these years, not just the ebb, but a wave never slight.
© 2016 Leslie PhilibertFeatured Review
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Added on August 17, 2016Last Updated on August 17, 2016 AuthorLeslie PhilibertBavaria, GermanyAboutI`m not important. I just want to write a couple of good poems. Just read what I write. That`s enough. more..Writing
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