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Lolita Rising

Far worse than drowning, I think, is the fear of drowning.
It is the fear that smothers- the water’s
a release, a gentle shock. Before you drowned me,

you wrote charms against fear on
my skin in ink made of crushed leaves and mammoth’s blood.
You always were a charming one, with your
soft hands and skinny limbs and
bright bud-eyes that you never quite grew into.

Your face was the color of August, and smelled
of orchids, the moon, and unripe cheese.
Posted 02/17/12
My first new poem after a hiatus of far too long.
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