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Dec 2009
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
Robert Zanfad
Written by
Robert Zanfad
1.0k
   Nat Lipstadt
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