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Oct 2018
016
and as the night
drips down the walls
like sweet molasses
i, too
go quietly
the sweet surrender closing
over my head

in autumn cold i lose the sound
of your voice, dripping
in hues of gold and royal blue
     - curse my pockmarked memory
for not retaining
the velvet tenor
of my name rolling off your tongue
like a prayer
persephone
Written by
persephone  20/F/california
(20/F/california)   
122
 
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