Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Lost love by Bill West

Last week you stole my peppermint, the one I kept behind my ear. For later. How I loved the fat crinkle sound the wrapper made when I scratched my ear. An insect or a moth whispering secrets. Yesterday you stole my cat. I loved that salty tangy fur-bag. Each night in bed I'd rub my cheek against her fur and purr. In my diary: "purred for 10 minutes but she only meowed. Someday she'll learn." I'll light a candle in my window. Each night a light to guide them home to me.

Author bio:

Bill West wrote poetry, then he wrote flash fiction, now he writes poetry. Maybe its time he wrote something else. He once had a piece accepted for publication just because the editor liked his bio, but it wasn't this bio.

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