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A Meeting Perchance

I see her lips curl in grimace

A purulence of old meat

Put off too many tomorrows

Air touched disinfected, rescented

An insult in time forgotten.

 

Suddenly recalled with that face

Appearing amidst the street

Girlish want of it since disposed,

Dead flesh wafts again, decayed, fetid

Memories of it since rotten

We look away and walk on

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Written by
robert-zanfad
American
Published
Dec 12, 2009
Lines·Words
11·58
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