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Click hereShe wants to wear me,
like a smooth-skin suit.
Wheeled closer to flurry skies,
she presses her palm
to the home's winter glass.
I remember cold.
Her voice is snow,
amazing as it falls.
She melts
when I offer lavender polish.
Young nails always glow her.
Perhaps her Alfonse will notice
next time he's out of bed.
I tell her I will visit
again, until old ladies
no longer want to wear me —
December suit, wrinkled
near the window.
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copyright d. dixon
12.14.2004
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....beautiful images. I love poetry that creates a picture, a feeling and an emotional response, three out of three.
Tess
Her voice is snow,
amazing as it falls.
--Gorgeous. Thanks, Eve.
of this is... is... can't put it in words. It goes with the title, and in a good way. It comes across and lasts.