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KEITH WOOD
RED When she calls at night crying, cold lonesome Wichita blue, I tell her the same thing: I never intended for this to happen. Never. I should give up. Forget the damn red head. But it just ain’t that damn easy. She hasn't called tonight. No dinner, no sloppy kitchen dancing or waking in the morning with her delicate dreamed breath on my shoulder. The floor beneath me will hold tonight, my legs will stand strong, my pillow, dressed in her forgotten slip, will give my arms something to hold while I try not to think, while I try not to keep aching. |
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