Poetry

Havana Club

I thought I lost myself But tonight In this red-lit bar Full of soft chairs and soft spoken people And music to dance to in the background Named after the Havana Club I’m myself again And I sip my French 75 And I find myself.

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November Second

I hear her quiet laughter echoing through the carnation-pink walls of her room, always brief and barely audible. I notice it because it is rare to see the curving lines of a smile extend slowly across her round, weary face. Her face was never smooth porcelain skin. It was wrinkled like the rest of her […]

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