blonde hair,
lockes of god
bringing the miracle.
the blue hills rolling along like that,
looking back and thinking of it all.
you see the world through a fractured windshield,
thinking of jazz music and the san francisco bay bridge.
I want my thoughts to be clear but I can't shake
the sense of existence long enough to do so.
I would like to tell you about flowers but flowers
are black and blue in my garden.
I tend to my roses and hold them like a
sentimental gift.
I would like to cry,
but crying is dumb and irrational.
little brown eyes and a black-laced glove,
I miss you but to admit it brings
a deeper hurt then I can bare
to remember.
until tomorrow.
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