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Word lover’s desire languishes on linen. She smears ink and coffee on my soul leaving me stunned and stained. I try to wipe the stains. I hold a mirror to block the light; light shows all and all isn’t what I want to give. Wishes left dangling are as sweet as we choose to write them; those ink stained dreams taste sweet. Word lover comes late when nothing else matters. She leaves me drained and wet, smelling of ink and spilled coffee; stained by the brew that lingers for others to taste.
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