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Dec 2018
You asphyxiate linear reality
with that choke hold grip of your presence
Black hole pupils
The one's I've been praying for
The ones that catch everything
And by catch  I mean pull
And by pull I mean bring towards
Towards you, towards me
Weighted slow motion
The longer the gaze
The slower my time
Compressing me in the preserving amber
Of your eyes
Held eternal
Stumblebum Fumbletongue
Written by
Stumblebum Fumbletongue  F
(F)   
116
 
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