2. My daughter's feet

My inner monologue is a beat poem /
my daughters feet stamp love around the window pane /
I throw these memories like motion / like stones across street lamps
Blown bottles / touch cheeks / her kiss on my eyelids

Sometimes I think I died at school /
My memories remain in the grey concrete blocks of emotion
Whilst I continue as a ghost of what I may have become /

The End

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