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Edgar Whitman Wilde
Poems
Mar 2012
Of A Dead Love
Kennington in mornings thought
Olive skin and drunken breath
Hairs that slide between newly discovered realms
Beauty, belief
Unapologetic paleness
That fills our room
Steals my breath
A single kiss
That leaves me blind
And mute
The discovery of hands of feet
A perfect back with muscled tone
That shines upon our beings complete
A thousand years
Per you are still
The rich heir of all my tears
Written by
Edgar Whitman Wilde
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