Le Défunt Poem by Melissa Hurst
Le Défunt
Upon the floor,
You have become such a bore.
Without a care,
You have a strange glare.
You look so stale,
So unbelievably pale.
My lips sweep across yours,
Tasting their sores,
But you do not adore.
A foreign scent is all about,
I've become filled with doubt.
You'll never return,
Life is no longer your concern.
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7/24/2025 3:29:37 PM # 1.0.0
