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Jul 2013
I can't erase
your penned-in face
I killed a man
That's for sure.
Long days begin to blur
The sting
Of her lips
And the clink of a ring
Sing of bullets
And thin streams of *****
Or blood
Or death
Or love
It all sounds like evaporation to me.
I sat at her grave
Maybe told her I'm not that brave.
Ann Beaver
Written by
Ann Beaver
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