2.17.17

There is a boy who sits across from me,

I like to watch him.

His round face, flushed cheeks,

The mop of tousled hair.

He looks like I portrait I saw once in the

Museum of Modern Art, of a boy during the American revolution.

Beside him sits a girl whose ears remind me of raphaelites painting, and the delicate pink shells of her ears are Aphrodite rising

Everywhere there are echoes of eternity in the curve of your lips.

it is like watching

infinity

birthing itself.

 

 

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