Cerulean - Gord - Aspoet
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Gord

2024-09-25 09:27 pm
Blue, pale sky.

What did I miss?
The sale price?
The halfway line?
Brick by bloody brick,
They desalt mines.

Did you just move away,
Get killed, then live again, 
Just to shiver in place, 
Wither and die? 
Were you better off hunting diamonds? 

Forgive my writing,
And erotic sins,
For which upon this wit I build.

Always right,
Above, they fly, 
Always white,
Always wine. 

Blue cranes from blueprints, 
Selfish, and high.

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