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Olivia
Poems
Nov 2014
Untitled
Your hands
trace
the pattern of
my skin,
just like my
mouth traces
your collarbones
and
I say things
you'll never hear
when you
aren't listening.
(I think we're drifting.)
Written by
Olivia
new zealand
(new zealand)
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0
270
the isolate slow faults
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