515 3 2
|
Not a fuss, not a stink,
The eulogy, deep, will make one think,
Grandmother, sat in back, will wink
|
17065
|
Should I tell Ellyn mom used to hate sunflowers?
|
56954
|
A poem not about fog written in fog with an erasable pen.
|
46532
|
My pain is a black pearl hidden in a clean shell.
|
33011
|
The coals lose their glow.Sun kisses the back of my neck goodbye.Someone plays Boys of Summer one more time.The cooler tips... The tides go out...
|
32933
|
They wear their bodies recklessly, these cempazuchitl, these flowers of the dead.
|
