the promiseA Poem by h d e rushinfor laura
I promise to not use the excuse of light just to display various images of Shangrila, where life approaches perfection. Let's just leave perfection to the biting cold or plumbs or little shark babies or that unbroken, curving line that the half-moon glues together with guesswork and incantation. Least we call you perfection as you circulate in my blood like a whiskey sour of ceremonious bow. If elected shamrock, the yellow flowered old world clover, I promise you the lake and all its differences. As the conglomerateur;
the accomplished gods of winter. © 2013 h d e rushinReviews
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Added on January 6, 2013Last Updated on January 6, 2013 Author
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