Sunday, August 30, 2015

I live in small 
angry 
rooms of love
without a fire escape 
for a fast exit.
Will they remember
the anguish 
when the hour glass 
has emptied 
their adolescent voices,
and the black crow 
ceases to watch over 
the moon.
They have already forgotten 
when  I had to dig deep 
and the third hand 
Silently aged me..

Avie.

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