China

China

A Poem by 4ammonologues

Your mother's is collecting
dust in the attic. I begin to forget
what you looked like,

then, with that jewel of a half-smile
dancing on your lips. My coffee's
gone cold and the days,

the days run together like
watered-down paint into an
amorphous puddle:


                   muddied and useless

© 2011 4ammonologues


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Added on July 31, 2011
Last Updated on July 31, 2011

Author

4ammonologues
4ammonologues

Missoula, MT



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