Friday, November 16, 2007

Not a Poet, and I Know It

My eyes quickly scan the box of treasures from a foreign land.
Inside, I find comforts of home
pure chocolate, cards with English, shampoo for Caucasians
all safe within plastic sacks as they wait for their unveiling
On the packing, I can faintly smell you.
I hoped to find you within.
But some things are not so easily sent.

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