Wednesday, April 20, 2011

the first time
i sat
chain smoking cigarettes
in warm brooklyn night
on this balcony
we were surrounded with flowers
and she was brilliant
and her voice was soft
like she was burnt
or the sea

now last years flowers are dead
secretely promising secret whispers
from beneath the hard dirt
and she and brooklyn
have soft voices still
but now
more like the flowers than the sea

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