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Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Not my softdrink

A stained glass vessel
sitting with me
on a poorly constructed
canteen table on the trees
surrounded mysteriously
by homosexuals hungry
of fantasies of night

gazes haunted me
eyes of red and sinful
things that are of blissful
plans to get my drink
and empty it bottoms-up
I carried myself and left
allowing not but a single drop

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