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November 2, 1998

As I immerse myself in a field of gray

not picturesque, not meant to stay,

I smell the coffee in your hands,

begging me back to majestic lands;

I fall into your embrace when beckoned,

only to drown in whiskey second.

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e

Written by

emily-fay-d

American

Published: Nov 1, 2010
LinesWords: 641

Notes: Written October 25, 2010

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