Old Fashion: Drying her hair, oft she’d think of his gaze Filled with love, his eyes would be stuck at her
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Old Fashion(ed)
Posted at Sep 08, 2011 | | No CommentsStrangers (A Sonnet)
Posted at Sep 02, 2011 | | No Comments
Through the window I see you on the bed, Chanting the brown-beads, hoping you stay alive move your lips, “I have
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