Art, Poetry
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Love

Styrofoam plates smothered

with sweet and sour chicken,

and a rose from Meijer

You bend a plastic fork and pout while

the Asian lady speaks in tongues

and we say dinner’s delicious

so she giggles and grabs another Diet Coke.

You smile at me as snow blankets the earth,

and I reach for your hand,

as we gaze out the half-transparent window

towards the smoke filled skyline,

while inside the Happy Rose buffet

couples chatter over clicks of chopsticks.

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This entry was posted in: Art, Poetry
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My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.

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