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6. 17. 14
August 27, 2014
I keep trying to wrap myself in our old moments
Playing on my desire to fill the emptiness
The lonesome times compile into urns
Vessels of worship to a dirty past
A past that mocks my future
With the constant need to see you again
I want to curl up with the pleasant conversations of yesterday
Touch the silky ends of the message log sheets
If only I could erase your indiscretions
And melt your perfections into gold
I crave to become Klimt’s Kiss
© Jessica F., Bradford, MA
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