Perfect jewels staring straight at me,
past my skin and into my arteries to find all
the things I hide,
carry.
It’s all about the cinnamon left at the bottom of the mug
and if I can look you in the eye when it’s quiet.
The wind smelled of Halloween
and sometimes I can feel you in the hallways when I walk through the mall.
Photo credit: Flickr / S. Diddy
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Your poetry is fantastic :) Just saying...
Oh, thanks! I appreciate it. :)