Sunday afternoon
drips on a washing line
full of clothes that hang loose
for grey clouds to break blue.
then comes a cleaning
of glass that homed
gin and wine
lipstick marks
chipped rim edges
dry out on a rack by the sink.
an ashtray reminds many
lungs are meant for breathing.
incense candles burn
only to contain the mind.
sense is often lost
in moments of aban…
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