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second hand death

by s-lyman-temple

deep sigh escapes large white face ticking slow less than three and freedom – she awaits with bells on diamonds in her shoes anticipating breath bated ultimate goal togetherness— I pace recheck time tap pencils on faux wooden desks thumbs twiddle minute hand dawdles might piddle considering swaddling – her face forms my mind’s eye retracing soft curves delicate features astrologically charted freckle pattern sharp blue eyes pierce my heart leaps – formulating excuses call it an early day dash homeward sweet embrace –
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Written by
s-lyman-temple
American
For You?
Written by
s-lyman-temple
American
Published
Jan 13, 2016
Time
1m
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