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Apr 2012
Uneasy, queezy, no breezy feeling,
On currents that carry you home.

Settle, Swallow.
Love him, Sparrow.

A nest shouldn't be so cold.
I am his peach. Plump, plucked, ripe for him. He'll eat me up... While I dream of a fruit of my own. Dark hair. Damp cave.
Kirsten Martin
Written by
Kirsten Martin
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