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Walking the beach
There is something small in the walk, barefoot along the shore; with crunching sand and waves lapping the hem of your jeans. Soaked, drying, sandy, brushed and prepared to return to socks then shoes, then pavement, feet planting and stepping in time to music produced by your phone.
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The Day I Turned Old
I’ve put off the visit for too long they tell me. I don’t have a good reason just money and time and perfection or procrastination. She asks me the usual questions about diet and exercise whether I drink or smoke; this time I find the questions funny: Have you had a drink in the last…
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Love Poem
What is love but speculation? We carefully construct our appearance and speak reasonably and passionately; a courting ritual so deceitful and ambitious in its attempt to win loyalty and devotion. And yet, it is love that enters in behind lust and desire. It eats away selfish demands, revealing joy and childish giddy inhabiting even stern…