Black And Red

Ink in the crevices of my fingerprints,
Tiny paper cuts and reminiscences of unfinished letters —

Ripped off, forgotten… All the empty pages

Laying around the room, the one you never visited

.

I’ve always wanted to write you a second letter 

From here to Georgia, where love used to be, 

But in a lazy April evening everything was taken away

.

What words can carry at this point? There’s no one to read the old letters.

Pages rewritten over and over

In black and red; by pen and heart

.

ML

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