March 5, 2008
the taste of liquor on the lips
pressed together and
quietly searching
behind the closed door
in the bedroom
in his dreams

the taste of blood on empty clips
amid broken men and souls
his name on a bullet
beneath a smoke-filled sky
in the war zone
in her nightmares

the taste of tears on fingertips
of the white hand that
hangs out from
beneath the white sheet
in the white room
in the end

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