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Wiser Men than Me

by James Walton (follow)
They say we’re too old
seven decades in
but they don’ know
how the Morocco
of your hair
turning to me
touching like gentle rain
coined in all the moments
others feel only once
lingers out of mornings
still to be tousled
and I fall again
into this velvet pocket
folded over and over
in a written keepsake
each bombe alaska
puzzled between thumb and promise
holds all our lively numbers
choose any one you like.


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