Some stories aren’t meant to be sold
Some words aren’t meant to be told
I want to leave them underneath the nightstand to be forgotten or remembered should my thoughts come upon them in the middle of the night after a long beach day
Or by you, some afternoon, to thumb through with your warm warm after-work handsI love you, but you don’t understand me, I’m a real poet!
My life is my poetry, my love making is my legacy!
My thoughts are about nothing, and beautiful, and for free you see, the things that can’t be bought can’t be evaluated, and that makes them beyond human reach
Untouchable, safe, otherworldy
Unable to be deciphered or metabolized
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