lipstick smudges in the corner of a page /
fog drapes the city—slick, not slick—
a memory folds — the scent of absences /
listen: this is not a poem, but a trace,
a breath left behind /
what haunts you in the quiet?
By
lipstick smudges in the corner of a page /
fog drapes the city—slick, not slick—
a memory folds — the scent of absences /
listen: this is not a poem, but a trace,
a breath left behind /
what haunts you in the quiet?
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