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Sep 2020
Now I extract with tweezers from my flesh
the silver splinters of our common past,
unoxidized sharp memories still fresh,
which left would fester like a question asked
but never answered. Isn't it absurd
how we wound each other with joyous shards
of love's black shrapnel: how passion burns,
yet in remembering turns to gangrene ash?
Norman Crane
Written by
Norman Crane  Canada
(Canada)   
110
     old poet MK, Elizabeth J and Mark S
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