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Jemima Jane Bowen
Poems
Dec 2015
First of November
The burning fox sits on the wall
And the mist clings to your kisses —
The skies bloom and explode into the black
As we watch Icarus fall
We ferociously ache for somewhere warmer
Orange trees drop their guns and dive for cover
You taste like hot squash —
But your brother tastes hotter.
Written by
Jemima Jane Bowen
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