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by
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Waverly
Poems
Jun 2014
Untitled
Little lady,
your comforts are poison,
you never return my love
and I am constantly hurt,
wishing you were here
in the birth of my confusion.
In the midst of a moonlight ****,
I lied to myself,
and said we were making love.
The universe unfurled,
and your body liquified
in the heat of the moment.
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Waverly
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