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TITLE: The wordsmith By Christian Stafford 07/09/06 |
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You’ve gone outside again
And I bounce off your face;
Brittle lips, dry skin
And it is only when eyes meet eyes
That I see the little girl
Deep within
Drowning in a pool
Of unshed tears.
And this arid watershed
Of your interior landscape
Has exterior motives
That dissemble most hypothetically
And yet beneath the
The weight of words
Who can deny the love?
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