Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Where in the world
can I run
where the end
will not be final--
run and forget,
forget, forget
the dream that never was--
that came in flowered silken prints
and perfumed feet and hair
and danced seduction
sudden death
and owned the very air--
this tongue that snaked
and wrapped the waist
and promised sweet the lie
then pulled me to the vacant depth
and killed me
never saying why

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