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Fruit In My Fist
Lips: like cliché cartoon roses.
Yes, red.
But open up my mouth,
Those lilies will - snap. - You. - Up.
Thorn in your side.
I think we used to fly with the bats,
The doves always ended up on our dinner table,
I told you it was chicken.
You choked me with Amen,
You squeezed me with your hand for grace,
For grace, from grace I fell
Down from the heaven...
Tuesday 22nd March 2016 3:05 pm
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