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Lorraine Johnson

[182] Behind the Rose

The wind howls

in the long hours

as a falling day

leaves me by

the open door

new cold creeps

into these walls

with lingering sun

deep in my pores.


A passing sound

a deep sigh

a million memories

fill my eyes

the wine still wet

and red

upon my thigh.


Around the corner

take a look

there's the star

the loving arm

feel the most

of what is close

and leave the woes

behind the rose.

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