Wall Written

All the poems I have
written for her are coming
down; disappearing,
like the breath of words

on the first cold night.
Here is one peeling
from the wall, here’s another
painted over, this one torn,

that one defaced and
yellowed by an indiffernt
sun,   one by one fading,
like these last days of summer and

those days when we caught falling
stars with our kisses with such

ease.

rough draft

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