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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#15791voted by our readers
By emma.rosenkranz BRONZE
New York, New York
I hear her lips are gateways, whose shriveled cracks coated with fluorescent white paint, never expose their imperfections. I hear his hands catch fire with her’s, m...
New York, New York
I hear her lips are gateways, whose shriveled cracks coated with fluorescent white paint, never expose their imperfections. I hear his hands catch fire with her’s, m...