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Nine is a loud snorer;
We loved --
But he's not my lover.

Soon, men trapped in books will
break Love --
That is Fiction in disguise.

His breath dispels the truth: He
used me --
not as much as I used him,

my only consolation.
I lost --
yet again, to Poetry.
©2006-2009 ~Crit-Lit
:iconcrit-lit:

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by ~eypril

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June 20, 2006
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