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| David Wagoner |
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| Muse | ||||
| cackling, smelling of camphor, crumbs of pink icing Clinging to her lips, her lipstick smeared Halfway around her neck, her cracked teeth bristling With bloody splinters, she leans over my shoulder. Oh my only hope, dumfounding baggage, My gristle-breasted, slack-jawed zealot, kiss me again. |
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| Optimiert für MS InternetExplorer 5.0 + und 1024x768 |
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