for impossible times
is turning over on the tip of my tongue
and it tastes like lemonade
sweet with sour
and tangy with zesty
and simply alive and tingling,
that is what this love song is.
this love song on my desk,
written in pencil,
graded in red,
its a beloved piece of paper
held by many hands
but now tis neglected
and no longer gossiped about
because the gossips have traveled on
and left this love song
to simply deteriorate.
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