jerome moore


Nocturne


With each coal resting under the dank rotted wooden people
and dirty leaves of the fleeting day;
Far from still things.
we rub our frictions out of being and when I see you smile
I rekindle vv that fire we have and fill the world with perfume.

Submitted: Monday, March 11, 2013
Edited: Monday, March 11, 2013
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