I walk slower because of you--
Reminded to find the lichen
Wrinkled along the rock, ubiquitous
And varied, I think of the true
Colors of the rock. Tripe,
Really, my pretty words, my useless
Pleads. What is poetry, rife
With symbiotic metaphor, less
Substance than a single syllable
Laid from your lips with exquisite
Care? Each of your words is like this:
A gift given so that I may treasure it.
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