the end
all I come to think ofis what to do with my hands
when no one is looking
how you used to go slow
in between the blinds
split my fingers
slip inside
at the end of
each hand
I am lost
Poetry by 5072
Read 879 times
Written on 2005-07-31 at 23:33
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Lisa Zaran |
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by 5072Latest textsfour fingersfive years old pop gun post it angel angle |
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