Nothing can be wounded eternally-
Eventually, left out in the cold it dies:
It dies and sinks quite peacefully into the sea;
It grows sedentary, unseemly irate- it takes up law,
...
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And I have grown to appreciate lightning storms and pearl handled
Firearms- tucked into the double entendre of your silk purse...
The metaphoric language of this poem is extraordinarily good.
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And I have grown to appreciate lightning storms and pearl handled Firearms- tucked into the double entendre of your silk purse... The metaphoric language of this poem is extraordinarily good.