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poem (3)

 

i scratched away
at the little silver bar

               (wishing it was a white line)

 

thinking that maybe,
just maybe

when the last piece
of glitter
fell to the floor

you would disappear

but you didn't,

(i lost)

and now the only thing
standing between me and you
is a glitter covered quarter

that you will take
instead of give

Author notes










-s-

quarters are great metaphors, dontchya think?

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