I wouldn't write you a love poem for
all the pencils in the world. I think 'cuz your soul
is a blank page of my notebook. You are
a new pair of boots that don't fit
right I don't have time to wear you
in and I prefer the ones I found at consignment,
used and traded in yes, but gosh -
they feel supergood.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
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