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sandra wyllie
Poems
Jul 2019
******* are
in my head. I think of him
instead and a rush of heat comes
over me. I build up to a
great release. Itβs like a wave rolling
to shore that takes away everything
that lays in its reach.
Without the head to paint it
the canvas is blank;
the beach is vacant.
Written by
sandra wyllie
60/F/Boston
(60/F/Boston)
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