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violins were always playing in the drums of my fifteen year old ears,
do you know, i think my fingers were bent over before i turned seventy,
and dry beyond their years, too tattered to be there,
just because those narrow bones badly needed something to hold between them.
and it’s so strange,
because whenever i hear songs without words i imagine you singing.
©2007-2009 ~shecanread
:iconshecanread:

Author's Comments

oh.

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:icondiscovered:
i love the last line
:iconotterhare:
ending is perfect.
beautiful poem.
:iconinfleshtation:
cutting right to the point. beautiful imagery.

--
six sick sluts
for the thirstiest of fucks
:iconopaquediaphanousness:
You're back! I was just thinking of you the other day and why I haven't seen any new deviations from you in so long. Not that I have any room for talking :blush: Delightful as always!

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November 25, 2007
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