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Last Equin

Snow and cold as Dry
And callous as the wind
and as moist as a mistress of the cloth
She rains, she hails, through her guise she now
Bombards
Snow as white as wings
Doves to some
Demons to others
She stings, she cracks
she whimpers all the same
As blood runs through her veins;
like all men, she savors the hunt
And ends her dance
with subtle dress
of her tender wounds
Sired and Inspired by

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Many Thanks for the inspiration
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September 24, 2012
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