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Poesía

A revisionist changes history, but I am merely telling my story how it happened to me -- what a travesty that it makes me the revisionist.

III.

5 1 0

by ______happypumpkins

by ______happypumpkins

I miss him quietly in the dead of night

when even the quiver of a lip or rustle of a hair

is seven octaves too loud.

I miss him silently in the midst of a busy day

when even a blazing thought may pierce

and be seventy seven octaves too loud.