by Linda M. Crate
brine clings to the contours of your face eroding
away every chance of a smile - you've forgotten
the topography of joy and depression settles in
with all her weary wings; she is a lover that you can't
push away and it kills me to see you struggling
if I had nine livers your sorrow would have
drowned them all, you are a whisper in the
wind today but tomorrow I will teach you
to fly again with your clipped wings and show
the world a new shade of you you've never known.
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