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Auracle on Another Shadow
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Nappies

in a wheelchair now, she's

a shadow of her history,

crippled us with lust in

the pomp of her mystery

 

to out-patients in my taxi,

whispers: "is it you Fred?"

of times when I loved her

immortal, not half-dead

 

dropped me for a broker

always cute and naughty,

oozed sex, a Lana Turner

mercenary and haughty

 

begs me to take her to bed,

purely for old ...

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