Tine Poem by Leo Yankevich

Tine

Rating: 5.0


There’s hard-wrought solitude:
past fifty, out for beer,
alone, not lonely. Ear
attuned to music, food
inside the belly, fine—
knowing dream is better
than a lost love letter,
old teats scrawled with a tine.

Friday, August 28, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: love,time
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Leo Yankevich

Leo Yankevich

Farrell, Pennsylvania
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