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Poetry: Bitter Poetry
Death is as a lover to me
by Alison

A lover with silky arms,
he wraps them around my neck.
I look to him for comfort,
and follow his call and beck.

He whispers sweet nothings in my ear,
and allows me to wrap my arms,
around his shoulders,
and twine about like yarns.

I stroke his cheeks,
he speaks to me so sweetly,
pressing his lips to mine,
sucking the life out of me.

I give over to his arrested loving,
lay back and cry,
because I know that when we are done,
that is when I'll die.

 
 
 
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