Elvis has left the building (a Valentine’s Day poem) |
02/14/01 8:00 pm |
drip… drip. Oceans of it. Going. Really going. (albeit slowly.) drawn out by natural gravity drip drip. I thought it would More like a… (or the sound of wet frog being thrown against a wall.) Or the sound of me screaming. The sound of its going is none of these things.
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The sound of its leaving is subtle, and quiet red wine and velvet and wet. splat against this Forward, Passion I have cradled like a lover Just me here, alone I will NOT
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