the geography of our anatomy
the history of our heartbeats
the people they've beaten for
our thoughts dedicated, brain waves.
a textbook version of what we're
used to, of life and love and hate and
indifference.
this is what I'm used to.
I can't remember your face or the smell of your hair
(but I remember the yellow of your enamel)
I can't remember your face or the smell of your hair
(but I remember the yellow of your enamel)
I can't remember your face or the smell of your hair
(but I remember the yellow of your enamel)
I can't remember your face or the smell of your hair
(but I remember the yellow of your enamel)
I can't remember your face or the smell of your hair
(but I remember the yellow of your enamel)
I can't remember your face or the smell of your hair
(but I remember the yellow of your enamel)
I can't remember your face or the smell of your hair
Thursday, March 19, 2009
March 17th, 2009
Poem by Anonymous at 1:16 AM
Labels: photography, poem, relationships
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