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Wednesday, June 15th, 2011 10:15 pm
She stretches forth her arm, her open hand,
Averts her pallid face, and lifts her chin
As if she's had this whole encounter planned.

Her pose insists: "I know you understand.
You know my need. Now let the game begin."
She stretches forth her arm, her open hand.

Her finger, scarred, recalls her wedding band,
Removed in contemplation of this sin
As if she's had this whole encounter planned.

She waits there, silent, full of cold demand,
A waxen lover made of parrafin.
She stretches forth her arm, her open hand.

She is a statue sculpted out of sand
That starts to crumble as the tide comes in
As if she's had this whole encounter planned.

And at the edge of darkness, there I stand,
So captivated by this mannequin.
She stretches forth her arm, her open hand,
As if she's had this whole encounter planned.

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