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Sonnet #36 (the epilogue to desaturated october)

by Joseff Marat

these are her eyes
that rain on the lands
this is her breath
passing through my hands

fraying strands of hair
stick to her hot wet cheeks
the oils smell so sweet
as she weeps for days and weeks

these are [the hours]
these pass so slow
harrowing perfection
as seasons come and go

we'd stand here by the river
if she was here with me

10/16/2005

Posted on 10/16/2005
Copyright © 2024 Joseff Marat

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