::: I Remember the Thorns :::

Dreams that were dreamed upon the flaccid foundations of Manhattan
were sucked into the sewers and spewed forth into the rancid waters of the Harlem river.
Feelings, like so much smoke rise to the ceiling and exit out the window of forgetfulness,
and a taste once sweet no longer so lingers in the mouth,
and a fragrance like that of roses, burnt roses, in the air,
I remember the thorns!

Written by: ~ Carlos G.

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