Monday, July 27, 2009
Untitled
...present tense passes slower than the fleeting hours I have imagined the unfolding of this experience...on the inside...the actuality of a stolen moment...I cherish each minute of inclusion...in breathless anticipation of the second it will end...for me, time births sweet sorrow...over...and over...again...
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1 comment:
Why did this poem remind me orgasm from sex with someone I didn't like or want to know afterwards.
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