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Scummy Puddles

Beaten
Smashed
Kicked
And splashed
Out into the street
Like dirty bathwater

Nothing more than a filthy puddle
Rising over the curb
Flooding the sidewalk cracks
Eager for evaporation

Every hair
Is On end

Every pore
At attention

Yearning skin
Is stretching for a touch
That never existed
Pulled 
Like the blankets
Of children
Over worried heads
Attempting 
Their Satisfying seclusion

For when there is no direction
Passion is formless
And love loses shape

Copyright © | Year Posted 2011




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Date: 8/22/2011 3:49:00 PM
If you're speaking from experience (and if I'm gathering the correct meaning from your words), then we are two peas in a pod. The silent message my heart often speaks has been put into words with your poem. Thank you. Excellent write. I will add this to my favorites.
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