To Be Content About What Is Missing
i rush to pluck words
from the twigs of memory trees
lining on the avenues
of my mischief
words are flowers
and thoughts are colors
my lips are hands
with open fingers
i think of you
as always
i feel you like air
inside my lungs
i see nothing but
i am content about what is missing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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