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Period, 40
Sometimes. When the clots are thick and early, deeply red instead of thin and pinkish and I flinch as though some hand of god has sunk its fingers deep to pry my uterus from my pelvis meat that wont be pulled from my pubic bone just yet an earth that could, if given seed, still flourish, a ripe sea I follow what is lost down into water with my eye to study what exactly might have been begun to end abruptly and I am glad I cannot trace the shape of any being dropped beneath me. I could not bear gaining more to lose. WWW.NOTHERPOET.COM, HOME: ENTER HER. Poetry; Marylisa DeDomenicis WWW.NOTHERPOET.COM, LINKS: INTELLIGENT LIFE. VISIT. |
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