Monday, August 19, 2013


She left, she turned
venom spoken, gone,
and rift existed then.
Crumpled bauble cast
beside, but snatched
before forgotten, taken!
Held, adored, and doted,
alabaster neck adorned.
Can blame appear, can
envy rear a verdant arm
upon her peace? The
warmth of arms, those beads,
they never looked
so good on me.

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