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Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to...

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Christian Ward

 

 

 

Slippage

 

I was not the first to try

and find the source

of her slippage of heat.

Others had fumbled

through her body lit up

like a field of lighthouses,

crouching past a tiger

inked on her left thigh,

avoiding the topiary

between her legs. Nobody

guessed it was her eyes:

a pair of leaking vents

colouring the sky infra-red

with each drop of lost desire.

 

 

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