Red stays on the tip of my tongue
because I think I’ll always burn.
(Fly away with me.
We’re seared sensory memories.)
No matter how much I look to the sky,
I taste skin and life and salt.
Red stays on the tip of my tongue
because I think I’ll always burn.
(Fly away with me.
We’re seared sensory memories.)
No matter how much I look to the sky,
I taste skin and life and salt.
The Word Rummager 
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