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Image for the poem Two Fingers Of Rye

Two Fingers Of Rye

To my funny Valentine, if you will,
bury my flesh beneath trees possessed,
watching it bleed against all odds,
draining my lusting veins,
with a blue scalpel in the rain,
with feelings, I can't ignore,
burying it deep to get more sleep,
far away from a distant shore,
till it becomes cold as a stone,
if you will, with two fingers of rye.
adagio
Written by adagio
Published
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