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Apr 2010
the dawn did that stabbing
dark skin; running golden
chromatic blood
over rough hewn shoulders
jutting from inky dark pockets

claret slithers over drips(ing)
hills
the silent breathed noisy
sleep into every eye
that wasn't plucked from errant skulls

just like that
it kissed her whoreish
laughter bubbling through the seams in quiet

i miss her
PK Wakefield
Written by
PK Wakefield
1.1k
   David Bridgman
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