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Poetry Magnum Opus

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I'm not a talker, kept in solitude,
brought up by gran who liked her quiet.
Words worm to an early grave, she'd mutter.

I found the demons nested near the yews
in the churchyard. Heard them nibbling
the stumps of her corpse. I took them home.

They never leave, hungry for chat, snuffling
close-by, sniffing my sweat. Their voices
as moist as gran's goodnight kiss.

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Hi Badge,   Sonics drive this poem.  It is as warm as summer earth and a juicy as gran's kiss.   Love it.

~~Tink

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Nothing to be unsure about here. Rich in imagery, this one paints a picture worth a thousand words.

Tony

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