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Casualties
This is a bombs are where to land. the hands of sockets. Forget it. apologies, on target. But I my eyes won’t mess of ash, ass- the right people. |
Pantoum for the Hovering Heart
“Dread,” she said, “is delicate.” Awkward artistry turns the hand. Eyes, shy, ask another to lie Shirtless, heaven-faced, anxious |