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Ann Beaver
Poems
Mar 2013
Whiskey and Lace
Cinnamon whiskey
Burning hot like unseen lace.
Him and her: Frisky.
In my mind, her face.
Dark and structured
Cheek bones and jaw line
Imagination fractured
But all the same: Mine.
When I don't know
What he is doing
I imagine what is so.
Despite rationality shooing.
Written by
Ann Beaver
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