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Jan 2011
My pulse fades fast,
The end is nigh,
I'm at loss without you,
Unsure of myself,
Or how to be,
Longing for the comfort,
Of the gentle touch,
Of your warm fingers,
On my cool skin,
To lose ourselves,
In a place untouched,
By Time's withering hand
©Nicola-Isobel H.     06.01.2011
Isobel G
Written by
Isobel G  25/F/Australia
(25/F/Australia)   
1.9k
   Isobel G
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