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Dark Fjord Dec 2016
Dangling lazy their wet thumping legs,
my tongue bit that blanket pulled from me,

off with my clothing, your eyes hid nothing
happily, here after, in drinking;

Olives dream of the Sun
Once that held wumpa
To be a hole,
And in these last years I’ve
Held back biting at any one,  

I missed being Inside you;
or spelling you, and your howls.

— The End —