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PK Wakefield
Poems
Dec 2015
Untitled
My Dear who's come through winter
Growing with soft roughness
How you have become my kiss,
The pressing of my heart within
my breast,
And the pushing of my breath.
Oh Dear your hands are small
And move into my hands
With smallness, their pale beauty.
Dear, in Winter, who is dying,
You are life made skin and health;
Your lips are always playing
With softness as their wealth.
Written by
PK Wakefield
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