upside down in cursive letters,
words and pages
woven softly into songs.
I promise to never let you go,
weathering my soul,
and I'll line the windowsills
every morning with glass bottles...
even though with
every night
they grow dusty, burnt and old...
our fathers were washed with our mothers,
uncles, daughters, sisters, brothers,
and every time they smiled and waved,
we cut the ties,
to put them in their place.
But what do I know?
I am young and untouched
and i'm slowly learning backwards,
reading books
and songs
to send me on my way.
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