Hard Lines


I Could DIE

and no one would notice,

too much bitter cold, congestion, too much white noise.

Including you

another brute

filled with care.

The seasons pass.

I season.      Nicely

contained by your hollow thirst, a water jasmine appears,

to fill your infinite need, for now.

Till the luster fades,

and her sanguine support, curls, falls away.

And another season passes

as the cold hard lines, are drawn, again.

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