well …
i am tiptoeing backwards
through your poem
afraid of falling again
onto the damp grass
of rolling down the hillside
fingertip out-of-reach kisses
can we
play the record again
~ resume ~
or is it scratched
stuck in the grove
like me
the needle is sharper now
the blood is slower
sleep longer
can we see
a sky bluer
seas longer
sunnier
flowers more flowery
grasses more grassy
smiles longer and longer
evenings slower
and kisses
ah yes
those kisses …
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