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A butterfly on the nape of my neck
Irritated skin, hair raised in anticipation
Deliver me from the suspense
Of coming and going; calling and stalling
Leave a voicemail with a whisper fainter than my ears can hear
With shallow breathing like a moth;
Can you even flutter like you used to?
- by What the Dickens |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 09/27/2009 |
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