Our trail of memories
is imperfect in maturity;
and goes cold
in those wild
years of early childhood,
remembered thanks to
somewhat blurry baby photographs
that beg the question of
who dressed you, and
why they are not in prison.
Our trail of memories
is imperfect in maturity;
and goes cold
in those wild
years of early childhood,
remembered thanks to
somewhat blurry baby photographs
that beg the question of
who dressed you, and
why they are not in prison.
Ouch!
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