in between the bars
of my gritty teeth
I sigh at the road
Scraped knees
and errant bees
golden dust
clouds that must
ruin an evening race
or transform
into a football field
with sloppy teens
a soft romantic
I have been
with squashed lilies
in a naughty breeze
now a cynic
with arms so plump
bad breath
and grumpy roads
now a cynic
in arid grace
a sore cough
in dark bylanes
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