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Nov 2018
Lipstick stains my shirt,
red like a speck of blood
smells of amber and wood.

Figurative like a dagger’s point.
A swift, preemptive approach,
a  faithful sinner’s broach.

Punctured mind, drained,
red wine numbs me to faint
relentless, battering pain.
Ákos Domonyi
Written by
Ákos Domonyi  25/M/Hungary
(25/M/Hungary)   
  441
   Fawn and ---
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