blackberry
I lick the juice from my fingers
stained by berries and blood.
The thorn you pulled from my thumb,
you drop to the ground. No one
will find it. It is hidden by tall
grass and men
standing like wheat.
I lick the juice from my fingers
stained by berries and blood.
The thorn you pulled from my thumb,
you drop to the ground. No one
will find it. It is hidden by tall
grass and men
standing like wheat.
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Beautiful..
Comment by Gretchen — 06-19-08 @ 05.01