Excepting where you went...
I wrote this about my Dad.I don’t think he’d mind Wind flurries, flirting with hailstonesYou went offshore, out of rangeSome place, in that damned mac of yoursThat you always buttoned wrongly. It is in the wrongness that heart existsI cannot always love a right thing,Crookedly collared, I saw you sitting on wallOh there you are, I saidOf course, you answered, I’m waiting. Sometimes sun…
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