Wet feet in the sands of the wisconsin By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
your land, is not by birth
but will be, mine,
because you walked there.
and where i was born,
unknown to you,
is filled by what you said.
my winter soon to arrive
will be as yours,
a false cleansing
our grief hidden as
litter beneath
a fresh snow.
and monica
cried the night
she heard you first.
the coffee
in her cup cold
the ash on the tip of her
cigarette long and grey.
and she looked at me through
smoke curling,
rimmed eyes,
small uncertain smile,
dying one death,
to face another
happily,
a sister
in the waves
that crash against
vyborg
love standing on
wet feet in the sands
of the wisconsin.
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