My Vase
By Zez
As your hand gently slides Over the smooth cold shell, You feel ripples of paint, Fired so well. With tall neck worn And narrow base chipped, You see all the signs, Of glue quickly dipped. A dust covered rim Stained from all that’s died, Leaving nothing much more, Than emptiness inside. Written February 27th, 2002 © on Feb 27 2002 06:10 AM PST, mike 0 • 1
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"As your hand gently slides..."