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It touches

I was drunken with sorrowful music when I wrote this

It touches;
With malign intentions.
I can't see them but I know
It has your hands.
My latest white hair sings
Your name
And it touches
Where it hurts.
Taints your smell
Where I kept.
I call time for help
And the pain turns into something
Resembling you
Without hands
And it gives me
White hairs.
Without hands
Absence of you
Touches me
Through you
And leaves sing
With malign intentions
Your name.
It touches in my sleep
But its not me awakening
Living with malign intentions
Its absence of you
Your absence.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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