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wrenched in gut
counting small hairs on my hands
I sit and hear
the beat of my blinks
in this sleeping house
which I cannot leave
drizzled in spit
from the cream of the semi-skimmed
days I endure
often flecked
with chagrin and sweat
I pout and purse
at my lioness
she pads on my heart
purring with faith in the kiss of life
we share
spinach and egg
soon.
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