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feel a pulse
There’s no substitute for life.
I find myself,
seduced by yearnings.
I’m flourishing here,
contemplating sin.
I’ve nothing to do
when I’ve nothing but time.
I’m reusing solitudes -
they’ve become ragged.
What’s the answer then?
Should I seal my girly heart,
engage in uncaring kisses
like it’s ‘casual friday’ -
connive brief excitements
- just to feel a pulse?
Copyright ©
Anais Vionet
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