Good Winter

I sit here solemn under skull & bones among these colors, caught by corner consciousness. in good winter wonder, love, what revolution must have held for us. in bottom bottles and pinprick baited breath, I struggle still to leave forever what’s been left when only Christmas creaks could last.

This entry was posted in candid, creative, drunk poets, exposed, goodbyes, nostalgia, original, penance, prose, restless, strangers and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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