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Aug 2019
is the squeeze of death
like a baby chick getting mauled
by the hands holding it
it’s downy feathers cover fragile bones
that can snap by the impact of a love
that’s overgrown

these hands have crushed the life
out of most of what they hold
these fingers are bars that choke as
cheap cigars. If only I could spread them
out as petals so they’d be a freer, wider
surface to land I’m sure this love would expand
sandra wyllie
Written by
sandra wyllie  56/F
(56/F)   
115
     N, S Olson, Bogdan Dragos, roumen and Traveler
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