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Speculum What we shared was not alike, was never really quite the same. The crossing of the turquoise Seine, was green to me, was blue to you. You noted in your florid speech the passing of our first sweet kiss, as "water sip of a mirage." I almost drowned in that fake pond. The Griffin Vultures die in flocks, in Pakistan and India, you think that is a neutral thing, and turn away from CNN. But who is left to pick the bones? just jackals come to feed on flesh and feral dogs, in frenzied packs, as close at hand, hyenas laugh. So bon voyage, my witty one, go pack your pretty little bones, in floral suitcases with wheels. Go! Carry on the carrion, run fast, before the dusk explodes. |
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