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Mar 2014
I imagine the wave
of your hand
your hair
standing on end
at the sight of me
not the me I know
the me you somehow see
through a distorted glass vase
encase me in molasses love
slow my heart down from above
my face facing yours
it was the last time I took a breath
Ann Beaver
Written by
Ann Beaver
534
   ---, Chris T, Gwen Johnson and Sinai
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