six pentacles
little silver coins
you crash on my heartstrings
like bristle thistles
stuck in between silk eyelashes
i love to lick the hole clean
with daring nibbles on cheeks
and on ankles
I am not going to be bothered
with exaggerated nostalgia
rotting my ripe core
making me soft and easy
smashing tomatoes
for the spring solstice arrival
when i will remember
my past ways
I will try not to mourn
I will never return
always looking behind
to see if the green eyes
and the setting sun are still waiting
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