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May 2020
The cold memory of the past
prickles my lips,
leaving me thirsty for more.
I cry to satisfy
my irritated lips,
but the wells in my eyes
ran dry a long time ago.
Nevertheless, I muster
one tear. As gravity
pulls its weight,
I see it enrich
the cracked soil I stand on.
Written by
Espresso manic  M/Somewhere
(M/Somewhere)   
107
     the dirty poet and Fawn
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