Wednesday, December 3, 2014


The sublimity of your youth is a fetching show of strength,
a stunning look into the lives of him who knows.
Your face, your eyes,
beheld by one
who loves the rasp inside your vocal chords when evening's foggy soup
subsides and leaves its residue clinging to the walls of your esophagii.

You are not cowed,
by crowds, by loneliness,
perhaps, even, by me.

The lone biographer of your anonymous epiphany.

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