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Jan 2017
Curly hair,
Soft skin,
Those things I remember,
Of my Once Upon a Time.


Eyes that were deep,
Cold and yet inviting.
Waiting on gentle fingers,
For one small sign.


That curl of the lock,
Soft as the skin,
All of it I miss,
Of my Once Upon a Time.
This poem used to taste sour
david mitchell
Written by
david mitchell  24
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