Author: Daniela Amodeo

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It was never

It was never you — It was never your arms — Or the smell of your hands When driving felt like drifting through a storm. It was never your mouth — When I said...

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Youth

For those times, today long gone and flattened by the weight of time, like contours of the earth seen from a high-flying plane, still had varying depths then, to the eye of memory; the...

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Brighton Pier

All we are left to play with Is some sadness And a few neat addictions To fears Walks And compulsive reads. Then also staring at the open sea Learning how to squeeze Some wisdom...