Couscous |
Good from far, but far from good |
Moment of gold |
Commit to paper the chances I've missed, the girls I've loved, the dogs I've kissed |
It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there |
Wraprascal |
My pillow still smells of you |
Ripples on the surface of years |
Be your own fiction. After that, the story almost writes itself. |
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