Sonnet #36 (the epilogue to desaturated october) by Joseff Maratthese 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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