i wish i could dream about a place like that every night.
a place where we ate dessert first,
and drank yellow paint in between kisses behind the projector screen.
where the beds smelled of pencil shavings,
and dead grass filled the cracks in the spine of my notebook.
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More Ryhme des mots
PoetryThe reckless optimist creates sunbeams With Archimedes death rays That they do believe will result in lovely sunsets. (And most everybody burnt to a crisp is not in favor of this method.)
