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Up and a ladder. A paint-brush, an
image of her teeth. Floating just beneath
the second to last, of the step. Step, step, step
on up and away you say: Doves and time
Pieces of porcelain, over yersterday ties
I beckon to save: the childhood that took
two lives to an astray. Worried and labias
tasting like palms, gripped by a wooden
Handle, on a clean paint-brush. A...
smile, just... Dark-minded, eyes of you
I see the brightness and listen: Waves
of an Ocean whose sandy beaches
rest under the can of tin: Labeled
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