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7 swans
Seven swans are swimming, in and out of my thighs.
Your hands are hot with the fire that burns behind your eyes.
Floating on a dusty cloud, give myself to tragedy.
Sick twisted bile of this sacrifice.
Living forever in a pudgy non-dream.
Aloneness-oneness.
Can't relate...... Hesitate.
Taste Familiar?.
Don't worry there is a sweet spoonful of sugar to help it all go down.
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| I wrote this poem when I was 17, so almost 20 years ago. I think I just liked, at the time, the alliteration of Seven Swans Swimming. |
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| Honestly, it was very confusing. But at the same time very well written. I'm still curious about what seven swans have to do with the poem. |
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| Another typo - Aloneness - if you mean being alone. I don't quite get the 7 swans, but different strokes for different folks. Good luck. Janet |
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| Spelling errors aside, this is good. I like it very much. |
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| Yes, I know. I have just been getting the time to edit. I really just wanted to get it out there. Alas, I should be embarrassed at all the errors. It will improve as I continue to review. |
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