THE POET

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I try not to visit her,
she smells of smoke
and bitches too much.

Because of the canyons
under her eyes
it would take too long to know her.

She decorates herself
with the dust of an old lover,
and if I get too close

I will choke on her memories
which rise like smoke,
and which she tries to bury nightly

in the moonlight.

THE POET | Ecency