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Apr 2018
a creeping
wither did
vine rocky's
tail and
was falling
leaves in
Autumn only
blue by
trail weened
her dorky
tea in
throat that
her ***
broiled canapΓ©
and wrest
on her
hot plate
A nocturnal season that waste wtung her heart by perchance there
Scott F Hemingway
Written by
Scott F Hemingway  Bloom
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