I write what I see. |
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Knocked Over Bodhisattwa Parekh An awkward hand, a tilted glass. Hardness is blooming with wine. A dark stain is spreading gradually. Silence follows the shattering sound. Regret lingers, a sticky reminder. Clean-up begins. Paper towels soak, and proofs erase. But that memory remains as it is. Lines: 8 Topic ▶︎ |