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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 11-June 07:08:48 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 174059
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Countdown
[time] => 2012-10-19 23:50:25
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => It’s the winter of my life at the end of July I close my eyes and count to four, I never make it to five I remember you His indifferent fingers dancing along my bare skin Truth is, I’ve forgotten how to be touched In late august, when sweet nothings turn like the leaves, I will relive our memories at every harvest moon At midnight, when the minute hand holds the promise of a new year I will trace the places where your lips still linger And in May, I’ll pick flowers for our loves grave and set them at the tombstone in June I close my eyes and count to four, I never make it to five I’ll remember you… [comments] => 2 [counter] => 154 [topic] => 22 [informant] => cathartic [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LostLove )
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