Swirled into the memories of martyrs
soaked in heat and flavored by the brew
The taste of tattered tea leaves in warm water
Words? Poets? All of this paper was once a tree
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...