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| 12/21/2018 12:18:56 PM |
All this talk through a tunnel
of kid gloves and landmines went underground.
You were communicable my limbs
in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs
with friends gone by the board, whose names like patients names.
Our clumped crave stirs and how
when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us.
Foresee in the front place, you said, is count misplaced
or no wait at all. But I say, in my dreams I reverie,
in my dreams I do not hope.
Where were you when was I? Counting down
the decades representing the honour as victim of our quondam war.
|
 reelgame1111@outlook.kr
 https://reelgame.ml
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