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Her body was exposed. I traced every curve with the tips of my fingers. All over until I reached her face, A new face, pure and bright. A face I'd never seen. Twisted and tangled in the sheets, She sang with a soft and gentle voice. Like a boat slowly rocking in the water, Knocking against an old wooden dock. The wood splintered and rotted, And then I was back. Where had my mind gone. It went to the beginning, To the last place I ever saw her, To the last place she was even seen.
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Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 2:40 PM UTC
Scattered Pieces on Mt. Eyre
Her body was exposed. I traced every curve with the tips of my fingers. All over until I reached her face, A new face, pure and bright. A face I'd never seen. Twisted and tangled in the sheets, She sang with a soft and gentle voice. Like a boat slowly rocking in the water, Knocking against an old wooden dock. The wood splintered and rotted, And then I was back. Where had my mind gone. It went to the beginning, To the last place I ever saw her, To the last place she was even seen.
stephan-knight
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Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 2:40 PM UTC
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