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Harlow
Poems
Apr 2013
Absence
Every day I'm born anew
and still I choose to spend it in you.
Each night I die, a slow, laborious death with nothing to hope for when there's no hope in your breath.
Each morning I rise with ambitions for the day, but your lips were far better than this coffee cup's clay,
and so I live to die again in the blue remembrance of this pen.
Written by
Harlow
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Daniel K
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Elizabeth Paxton
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