I Could Smell The Cinders, And Ater The Rotting Apples Poem by Cristobal Benjumea

I Could Smell The Cinders, And Ater The Rotting Apples



The wind takes me i take care of me till we fly to Latakia

The whole town smells of blossoms we distriuted with clinical precision

Every time peace and rest dominated

Then i entered hamlet the hero of the poem

Friday, June 3, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: london
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