Mournful wood

Cast looks into my soul

And through my coffee cup.

 

The last time I saw her,

She feathered pages of poetry in pure bliss.

I’d never wanted to become words so badly.

I don’t think we even spoke.

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I’ve never tried to proofread

My love,

But hindsight is retrospective

and terrible.

Horrible

Horrible

Horrible.

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There is no wasted time.