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these fragile words of mine
stitched with such fraying
twine
some pleasure, some pain
frequently without rhyme
often without
reason
if you wish to read of shooting stars in words of measured cadence
and rhyme
i waste your time
if moons are sometimes blue
and at times,
violence so red
if you believe that godhood can sometimes be achieved in
bed
maybe these tastes of my life will strike a cord in you
some will
mean nothing to you
some may have been written of you
if any touch
you
it may be that it is that you have touched me
