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Keeping Him Love rolls off of you like water, gathering in puddles at your feet. I have learned to ease myself into its stark-shocking coolness with objective conviction, toe-heel-wrist-hip-ribs, Until you are enveloped in me. What is it you call faith? Is it like never knowing light, or is it like rolling over in the hours after darkness with shuttered eyes? You too, have held a loveless hand. Desperately content, we've all stayed to see Autumn, bleeding red leaves, hold one more summer hostage. Victory is not sweet. If lying on your tongue, it would taste more like this: Bitter, metallic, cold, maybe hot. But burning either way. By: Casey Evans |
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Copyright © 1996 Robert Thomas Crouch
Copyright © 1997 Timothy M. Radonich