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She

She picks lilies amongst the pond scum of my soul
Her thumbs trodden with the earth she loves

The sickness of the abstract thought

" Am I worthy?"

Bemused I wrestle the sun
The rays of her smile smite me lonely-in the gardens of her soul


Written by Thedeadinme
Published
Author's Note
For her
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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