Drunk on his
aftershave
such a subtle
aftertaste
she’s wasted
on memories
of his
sandpaper face
it brings her
to another place
in
time
when reason rhymed
when it
did not
hurt
to day-to-day
when she
did not
have
to look for paste
to glue his
trace
into
something once
tangible
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Reblogged this on Eclectic Verbosity.