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Cold
by Philip Carper

The winter chill
is a bitter pill.

It hurts so much
it makes me suck
my breath in.

I fall through
the floor of the ice
that is so nice.

For carving up your alabaster skin
into little cubes of sugar
sweetened by the Blood of the Dehara.

And now the winter chill
is not such a bitter pill
anymore.

About the Poet:
Philip Carper can be reached at python_shaman@hotmail.com or through his web site.

 
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