Dollar Bills

Your love is a counterfeit love:
pressed neatly and orderly,
smelling of new ink and paper,
minted by the millions at will.

It is everything reserved in a look and a grin,
bound to nothing but your own selfish whim.

But your love is a counterfeit love.
A happiness drained
never satiated —

green-smoke illusion.


Author: redgladiola

Creative writer happily predisposed to flights of fancy. You can find my poetry and short prose at

2 thoughts on “Currency”

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