Anonymous: Poetry

Wearing a black hat and gray attire,
I am the mysterious woman 
holding a Calla Lily

I live in relative comfort,
smelling of literature and L'Occitane
while spinning poetry at the keyboard

Life sifts through my outstretched fingers
like sea shells snatched 
by waves a second out of reach 

And my thoughts are ionized tangents
pressed into the pages of a journal
with infinite pages to navigate 

Yet none of these things speak
about the depths of who I am
between the spread of typeface:


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