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Making Faces.

Hot breath, cold bus glass, finger.

Eyes, a nose, a mouth.

Wide and blue-eyed you were

Got lost in them most times.

Sausage, bacon, two eggs.

Mum says 'don't'.

I'm caught up making faces

At the table, like most places,

When I ought not to be.

Kisses always sweetest with you,

Tasted like sugar and nicotine,

Bad for me, highly addicitive.

I'm craving, I'm making faces.

◄ Velveteen Tongue.

Circumstances. ►

Comments

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Larisa Rzhepishevska

Mon 18th Oct 2010 23:46

Beautiful poem. I like to make faces.

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