Things, things, things.
poetry by Caitlin Diamond
Sunday, June 17, 2012
(straw)
Her hair. It used to be straw-colored, or rather… something closer to pale sunshine on a December day. Nowadays it’s hard red. Dark. Saturated. I can’t help but breathe it in when I see her. Every time.
(composed in 60 seconds at
oneword.com
)
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