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Escape
She is a sweet doll, three tiers high,
a nipped in, ivory dumbbell.
Her nails, bitten down, flash in the crook
of his arm.
She looks duped, evangelical;
her face catching the icing underfoot
a little.
There is communion.
She steps forward, pressing her hand into mine,
our fingerprints, lost in glass -
uniforms, shapes of dust,
her...
Tuesday 10th May 2011 2:26 pm
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