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My thoughts have always been scattered
like ash in the warm summer breeze
that one morning after.
The magic of that night;
cannot find words to contain it -
could never find the melodies played -
could never reclaim that feeling.
For only sixteen,
we surely captured something fantastic;
Even today I think back to her -
her skin warm against mine in the cold evening
while huddling next to a bonfire
and eating ice cream...
I think of everything from that night
over and again
and never come any closer to solving the enigma of it.
She was like a cigarette,
addictive and dangerous
and I never quite managed another fix.
Little poem thing based on the writing prompt She was like a cigarette, addictive and dangerous.
Not sure whether I like it or not, but the prompt caught my imagination and I felt like I should write something tonight. (I should probably be sleeping by now, but here I am, writing a poem...)
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Submitted on
October 27, 2014
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