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May 2010
chaste spring lily loaded fingers
scything moted shafty sun tears
frail branches sifting precise phlorescent
sudden floral caving sound silence

heaps

of sleep powder crisp cheeks.
yawn billowing. oral sanctum.

when every arbor is neat little
straight rows onward ever spreading
into fading sight take my handinyourhand
and turn me to your guiding
descent body downward touching
peaceful forest day lover lacquered
lips
PK Wakefield
Written by
PK Wakefield
902
 
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