Non-Erotic PoetryGhostsComing from a distance, a familiar face. From a long way under many memories, I see his smile, his hair. I try to pull the rope. I try to pull him from the deep. Walking on, I scan him. In the bright light, I piece the puzzle. We passed and I brushed against a name. Dylan? He looks the same. But the clouds part. The same man would not be the same man and I smiled and was sad. Twenty years have passed.
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