Or saw the skirt covered in sailboats. The window, a blank view filled with exactly what she didn't know she wanted. She knew what she had to have. A potential lover wrote; I wear glasses. I don't eat pork. And I am very short? leading her to a temporary insanity that the voice she'd fallen in love with belonged to a dwarf. Once in a while, the glib can't out-perform wishes — description always phones in with blabber. Abides, then hones in. But she invented nature from what she heard and a window where she knows what she saw better than grit mopped out of the floor. Same. The price didn't matter. A grip of love and need so soon, and a fear of Christmas, too late. Price doesn't matter. Red gingham or interrupt, or delight abrupt always homes with a thing behind a fence. She saw cost so often she forgot its name.
Cynthia Arrieu-King Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
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