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Jun 2011
Like Saturn's seven moons,
your falling feet make circles.

Your skin's tucked in
to the subtle grace of gravity
and my breath is in your lungs.

Please show me slowly,
what I only know the limits of.

Run me down,
while I'm blinded by the sun.

Your white trash beautiful;
take me while I'm young.
Georgina Ann
Written by
Georgina Ann
963
 
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