The End Poem by salome danube

The End



The red of the wine, running on my skin
like a cold blooded serpent,
No longer belongs to my veins.

I curl up to bear my pain
like an unborn
And soon my mouth is filled with wine
and I 'm no longer able to speak.

salome danube
Sunday, May 24, 2009
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Poems By salome danube
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