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Poem On Poetry

 


You know when it is lost:
but when you have it
it is just there
like a hand or an eye
unnoticed.

How soon young women
paint over the bloom of youth
with another’s style.
Unseen beneath,
the face fades.

So I used your gloss,
powdered the cracks,
till one day
looking in the mirror
I was no longer there.

 

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