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-freelance writer, editor
& published poet-
Alexandra S. Thompson
Old Money, no. 1
A fortune lost
while petals of day-lilies wafted
downwards, towards the
papier-mâché moon,
half-sunk in waves.
Something more gruesome:
a friendly hello
heard in the night’s wet vapors,
her mouth, lips
slightly open.
Call me when you mean goodbye,
‘til then I have the
image, of your hand
trailing mist
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