THE SNOW I NEVER SAW

Folder: 
2003 Poetry

as pallid as a breath’s fine intention

and through only a bit of percipience

every thing that was spoken in swift

by a mean heart and callous lips

foreboded estrangement



don’t be too complacent as to think

that all the days spent with you were

always days of my utter indiscreet  

you’ll never guess what’s under my sheet





written 2/26/2003

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your work is wonderful.