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John Destalo
Poems
Jun 2020
bed of roses
the appearance
of thorns
my skin wanted
to feel
anything
feet and hands
tender places
I wanted to
feel entered
exposed
I wanted to
live to be alive
blood speaks
like a river
flooding its
banks
destroying
without intent
trying to get
rid of all
its excess
so it can
feel again
Written by
John Destalo
55/M/Harrisburg, PA
(55/M/Harrisburg, PA)
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