Wednesday, February 25, 2015

When Valentine

When the birds are all gone
when you can still smell the orange blossoms
who will carry our songs
when the first green comes on
like the first wet dreams returning
to the scene of the crime
when the only crime is
the idea of a crime
(then there are only crimes)
when you can hear the trees
breathing their last breaths
holding on to their dead leaves
for dear life only then when
it’s too late to learn

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