it’s true, i never

it’s true, i never
wrote about you,
in neither of the
simple nor elaborate
accordion space of
twelve years, not a
word in even the
most imperceptible
folds, it would seem
i am now making
up for lost time, like
a gypsy creature
tuning her la vie
en rose
underground,
on the bleecker street
station platform,
skirt swaying
.
20170322:2153
y

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