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Slivers of his son
Slivers of his son
And though love might not be enough
Still
Too much of it
Too much love
Might be
Enough
And more…
The hook of my tongue
The hook of my tongue
Blab it, who do we become after this poem ends
Blab it, who do we become after this poem ends
The playground is a battlefield
The playground is a battlefield
Self portrait as a doorway
Self portrait as a doorway
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