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Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Trace my space

Tracing paper

Fingers trace my spine
That old gentle caress
Death she takes her time
Not one to leave a mess
Lofting her hands
They feel just fine
Nails like razors
The love they leave
Like a very fine wine
Is deep and red
In real sharp lines

Chris McQueeney    12/10/14

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