ink
Its a snapshot paid for by a summer traded Polaroid memories just between friends is the secret a hard natural shape, taken in memorial from the grave sight in the eyes of a man not yet at home his to be skipped across the threshold From new ideas trapped in paper and pen always carried, carries a life run by music, the tones various scales purchased and flung out of the best to be played by a mother lie at the Super K empathy and trust destroyed a pile of broken age in witness to a life lived and remembered by a stuffed inanimate filled with love needed so badly it was torn in half he could have been before textbooks were wielded wrapped in leather swung by a right jolly good time was had with everything taken, stolen rented wheels and permanent possession except the purpose of it All found in a drawer buried by years of growing the angel of long hours, confined thinking of how it was to be free The experience, and the wrapper not holding much of anything anymore except all the love ever seen by her world. Of us.
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