I burned her poems in a china dish,
Then stirred the ashes, read my wish

That every love she wrote was me,
That we embraced in every line.

Am I The Fool, a clown divine,
Or simply reading mawkishly?

Real love lives somewhere physical,
My pillow whispers, cynical.

Survivor Poetry Contest
Trigger 14, Poet's Choice (Nonce Form)

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bypushkine© 2 comments/ 2336 views/ 0 favorites

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