When I forget where I left the keysI think of him—his silver hair,thick hands worthy of Rome's colosseum,back straight despite the weight of his history,gun-metal blue eyes refusing to cloud… Click to show full abstract
When I forget where I left the keysI think of him—his silver hair,thick hands worthy of Rome's colosseum,back straight despite the weight of his history,gun-metal blue eyes refusing to cloud over.His crumbling memory.
               
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