camomile
smells of old times and oatmeal
safety and the bleak life we led
through the deserted streets of those wet days.
a million thankyous passed our lips between the offerings
discussions which my mind could only barely wrap around,
but knew were more than I might want.
wet smells fill my ears
and I think that I will suffer through them once more,
for you
and your trust in all things good and noble















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