I often find you in specifics
In forming clouds like hieroglyphics
Upon the cracks mixed with acrylics
Or on your list next to the cynics

I often find me in your lyrics
Or in your heart, I guess it’s physics
I sometimes see things as suspicious
I hear your voice when leaving clinics

You’re dropping lines like analytics
I’m reading clues as if they’re gimmicks
I’m wishing peace were in logistics
But all we find are just statistics

© Delia Ross. 2021 / @poeeternal

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