a chemical ton of bricks,
a sky of cotton batting,
a purely imagined kiss.
a layer of tiny flies hovers,
a blow to drive them off,
a moment ripe, not rotten.
a soft but dampened grass,
a couple bodies sprawled,
a gaze to lock all eyes.
a hug awkwardly parts;
a passed-up chance;
a week of regret starts.
The winkle
10 months ago
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