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What A Wrath

Another woman
sits on rose hips
and talks about the spirits.

At sunset point,
I watch you undress,
in fading moon.

I would be talking
to the heap of my failures
for the sake of my touchdown.

There was no looking back
in dim light, when-
you were colorblind.

The arrow tip was
dipped in curare.
It goes straight into the beast.
Satish written by

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