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Trinidad Poetry #1

by Ginette T Belle

my skin is soaked in the heat of the evening
wet fingertips from the hollow in my neck
music like soft curls of smoke
lazily drifting from the chimney tops

smell of burning leaves
curtains dancing across the tile patio
dinner next door

who knows

it's just a familiar
childhood scent
that came alive
when I stepped into my grandmother's house

07/21/2003

Posted on 07/22/2003
Copyright © 2024 Ginette T Belle

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