#11

A stoic stasis,
bothered silence
of a warm rainy day,
the lush lustful green
pressed against the pale skies,
And solitude eroded into ennui.

The empty spaces, voids,
the cracks in your voice,
inadvertent poises,
persistent, adamant,
perineal wounds,
of a shameless vanity,
where I crawl in
in the lonesome dark,
to be.
waiting to be returned.

-CD

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