Trees are doing a slow strip
Over a crescent moon
Fishing for an answer
Divorced from the crumpled apples,
And the leaves thrown in our face
In our old tree-house
Like gloves
And a love increasing
Before our eyes,
Turning the sky purple with envy
In the early morning sunrise. (I challenge you to “write a poem consisting entirely of things you’d like to say, but never would, to a parent, lover, sibling, child, teacher, roommate, best friend, mayor, president, corporate CEO, etc.” Honesty is the best policy, after all, so get it off your chest! .. I wrote a somewhat subtle poem in response but may return to this in more depth after)
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