Straight on. . .
That was him.
Pinks and yellows
flowing
in large shapes
across a sagging face.
Losing the lines
and finding
them
again. . .
Weeds of stubble,
scribbled in patterns.
He was my straight face.
That was him.
Pinks and yellows
flowing
in large shapes
across a sagging face.
Losing the lines
and finding
them
again. . .
Weeds of stubble,
scribbled in patterns.
He was my straight face.
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