old poems that i forgot that i wrote….
it was only yesterday that he was born the magic of corduroy questions a picture of squirming kisses a translucent laugh, more delicious than coffee….
it was only yesterday that he was born the magic of corduroy questions a picture of squirming kisses a translucent laugh, more delicious than coffee….
there he was. he was dead, or so i’d been told, but there he was. he was alive, on my television, talking about christmas lites.