Ironic Tenderness

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We gather wounds but soon they scar.
We tend to each and one of them with affectionate precision.
So they can sink in oblivion like sugar in cappuccino froth

Until …
on days when weather changes briskly
(As it would, right? in a city like ours)
A fluorescent thud alights under each memory of a scar
Filling the city people with iridescent melancholy
that gathers in the middle of our chest
It pulsates, 1, 2, 3 …and maybe 4
Into the rose buds of our hearts
Fringed by etiolated petals.

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Author: My Little Incredible Life

Interested in the mind, the soul and how them two get on. I will try and explore a few experiences, some good some bad, some mine, some other's but I will write with honesty and truthfulness

3 thoughts on “ Ironic Tenderness”

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