Down at the Alameda

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Down at the alameda
We shook hands, 

Laughed,
Told stories,
Then laughed some more,
Until we forgot.

 

It was the place
Where life happened unconditionally,
Where leaves found their rhythm
In errant breezes
And paused to collect
A tear or two;

Where I once found a shell
With ridges decayed
Punctured with a tinge of lust
That tickled the jaws
Of feral plum seeds
Stripped of their memories
And spewed forth
From the mouths of happy beasts.

Art: “The Garden of Essai, Algiers”
Pierre-Auguste Renoir

 

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