Absence
The ink insists upon verses,
The paper waits for stories,
In Your absence, all's blank.
Â
Old Malady
Words sometimes just won't stop
Old malady of the subconscious
Do tell me if I begin to bore You.
Â
Still...
Merely a piece of ink marked paper
Yet holds within it a touch, a scent
Your postcard from years ago, still...
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