deepundergroundpoetry.com
She
She picks lilies amongst the pond scum of my soul
Her thumbs trodden with the earth she loves
The sickness of the abstract thought
" Am I worthy?"
Bemused I wrestle the sun
The rays of her smile smite me lonely-in the gardens of her soul
Her thumbs trodden with the earth she loves
The sickness of the abstract thought
" Am I worthy?"
Bemused I wrestle the sun
The rays of her smile smite me lonely-in the gardens of her soul
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