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the finisher

0 - Published November 29, 2012 by in Uncategorized

Grasses, fields, warm up feels like a year,

To stifle their advances invades thoughts,

But remain, with your body, your mind,

Stay now, in this groundball.

 

Swift, ultra smooth, you move, swimming and rolling,

Stand up, recover, you’ve just been buddied,

Passed, for the naked backside,

No doubt, your presence is evident,

Garbage, is that my game? So clean.

 

Reflect, in your bucket,

Chilly fingers, make us front men move quicker,

No shivers, I know a moment in never there to quiver.

Waiting, yet ready.

—-

#laxpoems

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