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Nov 2013
torn, shred,
and what was left, partitioned,
awaiting ripping.

ripe in sunlight,
dense from weightless life,
it sits, waiting.

there's nothing
to fulfill anymore, expectations
wait for disbursement.

dressed to the nines, tens, elevens,
until the twelfth hour;

waiting, consistently
for another slip of their finger
to slice through skin,

porcelain, crimson,
beauty, pain, life, love, lingering;
waiting takes too long.
Sal Gelles
Written by
Sal Gelles  The road
(The road)   
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