Thrown by Rando Mithlo at



written by: Rando Mithlo



One note held
Ripped at the fold
A pleasing read
My hunger need

Tore it more
In memory stored
I’d love to say
But, who’d love to know?

In paper framed
pen made a mess
A thought unclear
Then crushed in fist

I can’t explain
Not fast enough
The ink that ran
The blood that rushed

Her delicate white
Hand had thrown
Departed from
And arcing up

To watch it soar
Her perfect pitch
A storm-like cloud
Of fragrance lift

Catch it before
You close the door
Hard to swallow
The fortune known
-Now gone

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