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Poetry Poem
My Thoughts In Ink
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Wrong
cone of dirt,
boundary of earth,
predict the unpredictable,
broken results.
blank out the worry,
wite-out the pain,
clean is my slate,
naked, my body.
start anew,
with what i don't have,
opposite needs,
of my brother's keeper.
sew the stitch,
close the wound,
then readhere,
the open flesh.
longing for you,
and your perfect body,
all six of my senses,
are quickly aroused.
i feel around,
in an invisible hallway,
my eyes, my ears,
prove me wrong.
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Wrong
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