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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #1767147
Cold nostalgia.
Dusk was falling as we walked
towards the car, and idly talked.
Basking in the twilight pallet,
though I don't think he's yet aware,
as cold nostalgia gusted through his hair.

The cute girl at the ticket counter,
and the shifting noises, easy banter.
Knowing that my life could start,
should the whim just cross my heart.

An easy feeling, no effort
and my eyes just couldn't hurt
as we walked and caught the hues
of hometown purples, yellows, and blues.
© Copyright 2011 Robert Cloven (robertcloven at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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