"I started writing hundred of poems and sending them out. You know poetry doesn't pay anything, it was just a form I needed. Kind of a passionate, pleasurable, selfish, nice form where you can scream a bit. I guess I needed to scream a little bit." C. Bukowski
Sunday, November 29, 2015
Day Sixty-Three : Dear
Dear
I love you.
I am in bed
Where we were twelve hours ago
It is familiar
It is mine and also ours
Your cup, soup, smell
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