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Jan 2013
His air is snow
blanketed white willowed
over his heart; lo,
I slush. My jacket billowed.

Cheap wine, plump grapefruit,
sun dresses, and kisses--
a pirate's loot
from Jack Frost's cavern. He misses
his coin turned to color on my cheeks.
No different than missus
from under red light streaks.
Ann Beaver
Written by
Ann Beaver
553
   JL
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