While you stand above, framed in your open window
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your cynical lips one shadow away from a sneer
casting lemon flavored confections and their bits
of neatly-typed inscrutable wisdom to the hungry sky
I'll stand below, curb side, hands in pockets
content to gather the remnants, tickertape
lemon rain from your fire escape
"discontent in the first step forward"
Your gods are sour, with lips like yours
turned earrthward to my sidewalk
with it's shattered, scattered fortunes
while my gods are sweet,
gifting me with unexpected wisdom
and the beauty of an angry woman
who doesn't know how lovely
she looks in winter's blush.
Smile if you're stupid,
laugh if you understand.