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Jul 2014
Your red eyes
French fry fingers
Only look when they won't remember
Loose trip
Tight grip

Your heavy sighs
A million angel singers
Only listen when they can't hear
A little sharp
A little broken harp

Your compulsive lies
Your scar lingers
Only comforting the next day
Sit. Stay.
Come what may.
Ann Beaver
Written by
Ann Beaver
420
   Sinai, r and life's jump
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