By Fanny Jonathans Poyk
Love the red dice that hit flush on the cheek
ran for a figure in the pseudo shadows
Love is the story structured in vague instinct about you and me
its followed the trail since the end of the previous period
Love still flushed, moaning pitifully in every niche memory
Love is the memories of past and present are often biased
in seconds stomping
Love is a fragility to always remember that no definite
Love... its pounced and poked through all wishful
September 2, 2012
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Fanny Jonathans Poyk. Lives in Jakarta.
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