Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Poetry or Bullshit?

Untitled:
You’re a collection of glances
Each of them stolen
And all of them the contraband of my dreams
My imagination is no substitute for your beauty
And like the addict I’ve become
My appetite for your loveliness is no match
for the shortage I endure

You are also a passing flame
Impossible to grasp
Ever elusive,
Ever entrancing
When I close my eyes
I still see the shadow
Of your scarring beauty

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