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Dec 2014
Stars pulled from their suspends,
I watched the night bleed onto me.

The moon is just as dangerous to your
naked body,
as it still is to my naked heart;
a misfit artist perched softly in starlight,
reeling in hearts with faulty chambers.

Two aortas and the taste of your neck.

Two empty bottles of red wine
and the dark smothering something
I was never taught could shine.
Dean Eastmond
Written by
Dean Eastmond  Weymouth
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