Sunday, June 7, 2015

Fit For The Bottle

the money piles up like leaves,
raked with clawed hands,
burns easily with a match,
disappears into the ocean
like the experiences of past lovers.

desire rushes forward,
leaves an ink stained blotch,
lips murmur truths
we don't really want to hear,
ride the coat tails and you can 
fathom something fit for the bottle.

clouds sort of fall into place,
showing off the pretty and ugly things.
the heart and the mind  
with the same style dress code, 
operating at their own miles per hour.

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