small poems & small plates
I could sit before it sails and on the ocean mooring count the boats and bodies moving through the depths, and soaring in my silly heart a feeling I should be going--but who wanders the horizon these days anyway?
I could sit before it sails and on the ocean mooring count the boats and bodies moving through the depths, and soaring in my silly heart a feeling I should be going--but who wanders the horizon these days anyway?
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