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Mar 2015
Air
I like old glass
with bubbles

Pockets of breath
of the dead laid to rest

I break and I breathe and I taste

Their spices
and vices

Kisses from wives
Curses and verses

Songs of themselves
Wine of their wrath

Salt from their baths

Smoke from their fires
Sweet tastes of desire

Shared sighs and cries
Dead butterflies

Air.
r ~ 3/16/15
Maybe I should save it in a bottle and put a cork in it. :)
r
Written by
r  NC
(NC)   
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