This Is Forgetting
We couldn’t do it otherwise. Silent through doors, in chairs, legs of and cushions. Press the meat to dried lips, red on red, and wrinkled love. Frozen knots of light flicker through plastic. And once we walked in green and fallen brush and spring. We lurk and trample. Leave scars. Creep slowly across the wall. Imagine we know something of peace.
Dear Suburbia 
Thank you for following my site and also for reading my poem today…i look forward to reading more of your works! Thank you!
Hi! Many thanks to you as well. Happy to discover your site. Thank you so much for stopping by…Peace and Blessings to you!