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Rated: · Poetry · Personal · #1070232
How it is.
Floating in ancient waters
face and mouth, breasts and knees above
I hear the wood surrounding me
me
reminding me
I am old
I am a southern belle
I am a captive islander
I am mary magdalene
Periwinkle drangonflies of old
rest on my face
and whisper
remember me?
I do
The same sun warms my skin
that warmed her skin
and hers
the river lulls me down
toward it's lover
the old man
And there
I cannot go
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