I listen to the ballads of my blue mind
and think of you.
You are in the taste of blotted lipstick
on the lip crests of my morning.
You are the swift stroke and new razor
greeting the rough-hewn stubble of my face.
You are every drop of wet
in the shower of memory.
She wore red…
but I dreamed of her
in blues
onthed evi lishna tureo fwo mense ductioni sanol dmansr e aliza tio noft hetru enatu reofw hatw omenc allfe mininit ythet rueex tento fwhic hme nwis einye arsan dexperi enc ebeyondal loth erswi llne verfat homth epow ersoffe mininit yarederi vedfro mman ysourc esfir stthefel inegrac eofeas ymov ementands leeklin escaref ullycur vedth enthesh arplin edcuri osityo fpoutyp erfecti onnott oforge tthelac iviousn essofla vishli psandfin al lytheet ernalte aseofthet remblingta il.
Get the Poetry Post via direct dispatch
